


I May Be A Thief, But You Stole My Heart

by SaskiaK



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Amnesia, Depression, F/M, Kidnapping, Psychological Trauma, Rage, Romance, Stockholm Syndrome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-05-18
Packaged: 2018-10-30 10:29:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 63,696
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10874907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaskiaK/pseuds/SaskiaK
Summary: Rebecca is a thief, she's a good thief but her life turns upside down when what she takes from Patrick Stump's home is Patrick himself





	1. Rebecca

**Author's Note:**

> Set during the band's hiatus and Pete was still with Ashlee.  
> Hope you enjoy. If so, please feel free to comment - it's always good to know! :)

My name’s Rebecca and I’m not a nice person. It’s not that I couldn’t be, it’s just that I’m not. I guess that by the time I’ve finished telling you this, you’re going to hate me and, don’t get me wrong, I deserve it, I really do. I hate myself for what I did too. Perhaps I’d better stop talking in riddles and tell you?

It was late, just after three in the morning and when most people are tucked up in bed, that’s when I’m working. Nothing too unusual yet? No, well, I haven’t told you everything yet, have I? I’m a thief and as I said, I was working.

It was really odd, I knew I had the right house, but there was very little to give away that this was the home of a famous rock star. I expected the usual trappings of fame and wealth; the type of thing that I had found so very common in other houses in Glendale. The only thing that suggested any real wealth was the studio. A large room, soundproofed and converted to a studio, complete with mixing desk, two Macs each with two huge monitors, a vocal booth, live room and an incredible selection of instruments. I couldn’t help but wonder if he could play all these himself. I’ll admit, I didn’t know much about the guy, but he was well equipped, I had to give him that. It looked as though you could record entire albums in there and it would all sound very professional. The rest of the house, while tastefully furnished with quality pieces, was all very understated and modest. It could have been anyone living there, if not for the studio.

I was at a loss to know what to take. If there was a safe it was extraordinarily well hidden and there was no jewellery or cash to be found. I was beginning to realise what kind of man I was dealing with when the unthinkable happened - he returned home.

I was upstairs in the studio, still taking in the impressive set up when I heard the door downstairs. I have to admit, my heart dropped like a stone and I began to panic. This had never happened to me before and I prayed he was alone. Sneaking out to the stairs, still in darkness, I hugged the wall and clung to the shadows in a desperate attempt to hide. Looking down over the banister, I watched silently as he plopped his case in the hallway and sighed as he scooped the pile of letters from the hall table. I almost laughed; he was about the same height as me! I wasn’t expecting that, somehow, you expect rock stars to be larger than life, tall and handsome. This guy was short. It made me think about the pictures I’d seen of the band together, they were all roughly the same height, maybe a few inches difference amongst them. They were all tiny! And then, damn it, I did laugh. It was the smallest chuckle and I cut myself off as soon as I had started, but, so late in the otherwise silent house, he heard me. I threw myself back against the wall; too late my hand was clamped over my mouth. I was so angry with myself, but now I heard a foot take the first step on the stairs and a voice calling and I knew I had no choice but to try to escape without getting caught.

“Who’s there?” I heard him call as he switched a light on. “Pete? Is that you?”

I could actually hear the hope in his voice as he called out. I didn’t know much about the band, I didn’t think I needed to - a rock star’s a rock star, right? Wrong! If I’d known how down to earth this guy was I’d never have bothered with his home and now it looked as though I was going to get caught too. No. That wasn’t going to happen. No matter what, I wasn’t going to get caught. I mean this guy didn’t look all that agile although, he was thinner than I expected from the photos I’d seen of him. No, right now he just looked tired and nervous, all I had to do was knock him out of the way and run.

“Is somebody there?” he called again.

Now I could hear him nearing the top of the stairs. I had to be careful how I pushed him, I didn’t want to kill the guy, just get away from him. My timing would have to be...

One foot on the hallway, now two. Now or never!

Leaping out from my shadow shrouded hiding place, I bent low, intending to sweep him aside, knock him to the floor and run like hell. Turning sharply, he threw up his arms defensively and as I pushed, he grabbed me. It was more of an instinct thing, I’m sure. He couldn’t possibly have intended to do it, but he had hold of my arm and he wasn’t letting go.

“Let go!” 

I screamed in his face and if anything, the shock of it made him grip even tighter. With my free arm, I thumped at his hands repeatedly, but again, instinct kicked in and he snatched at my wrist. 

“Who are you? What the hell are you doing in my house?” 

I guess his first assumption was that I was a fan. It’s the only thing I can think of to explain why he wasn’t trying to hurt me. But I was trying to hurt him, not for any other reason than escape, but now I was kicking him. He backed up to try to get away from my kicking, yet all the while dragging me with him as he held onto my arm and wrist.

“Let go of me!” I screamed again, desperate to get away.

And then it happened. If he’d had just let me go, it would never have happened, the whole drawn out sequence of events that followed would never have taken place. 

He slipped. I swear he slipped. I didn’t push him. His heel slipped back on the top step and he was toppling backwards. I saw the look of abject terror on his face as he let go of me to try to grab at something, but his fingers just scrabbled at the bare walls. By now he was already at too much of an angle to pull himself back. It all happened so fast; I reached out, I honestly did, but he was much too far away from me by then and… then he was gone. 

I watched, numb and scared, as he tumbled wildly down the stairs. I could see that by about half way down, he had stopped trying to right himself and my heart plummeted as I realised the significance. Hitting the floor at the foot of the stairs with a terrible thud, I could see he was lying at an awkward angle, blood spattered on his shirt and hands. I stood there, frozen, too scared to move, wondering if I’d killed him. It was an accident, but who was going to believe me? As I stood, my eyes transfixed, my heart pounding, I gasped with relief as I saw the fingers of his right hand moving. He was alive at least. This had to be my cue to leave. Racing down the stairs, I actually leapt over him in my eagerness to get away. But then I stopped. Why? It was something he said.

“Wait...” he whispered. “P… please, help me.”

Don’t ask me what I was thinking when I went back and knelt at his side, I mean, I was robbing the guy’s house! But I’d hurt him badly and he’d tried so hard not to hurt me. 

“I’ll call 911,” I told him, reasonably confident that in his current condition, he wouldn’t remember me well enough to pick me out of a line up but then I realised the extent of his injuries.  
“Where am I?” he asked me with a pained expression.  
“You don’t remember?” I asked astonished by his question.  
“No,” he closed his eyes briefly, obviously confused. “I... I don’t remember anything.”  
“But you know who you are? Right?”

He turned a pained expression in my direction and instantly, I realised he really didn’t remember anything. I don’t know what came over me, but suddenly I made the giant leap from thief to kidnapper in that one brief second.

“Martin? Don’t you remember me?” It had been my last boyfriend’s name, I hadn’t known it was one of his middle names. Lucky maybe, perhaps it helped him just accept what I was saying to him, but at that point he certainly didn’t look like he remembered anything. I could see him trying desperately to figure out who I was, even who he was. It was painful to watch but I didn’t stop.

“Can you move?” I urged. “We have to get out of here! The owner’ll come back soon, he’ll catch us!”

I think the urgency in my tone helped and within seconds he was trying his best to roll over onto his knees. The grimace on his face and his shortness of breath told me that he was in a great deal of pain, probably concussed and extremely confused and uncoordinated as a result. Helping him to his feet, we staggered out of the house and to my car. 

It was unplanned and I was out of my depth. I knew I was going to take something from the house, I just wasn’t expecting that something to be Patrick Stump himself.  
.


	2. Would it be so bad if I kept him?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick wakes, weak and still with no memory and Rebecca considers something even she can't believe

I couldn’t help but stare at him. He was sleeping so peacefully, not a crease on his brow, his eyes gently closed, cheek buried deep into the pillow, he looked almost angelic. He had slipped into unconsciousness again as soon as I got him to the car, which I’ll admit was quite convenient. It gave me time to fetch the suitcase that he had dropped in the hall on his arrival home. He needed some clothes and I didn’t have any guy’s stuff. I couldn’t hope to convince him that we were living together if none of his things were at my place. 

Now it was time for the awkward bit - as if undressing him hadn’t been strange enough! I had to play at being his girlfriend, I had to climb into bed alongside him. It hadn’t occurred to me and I felt stupid. I had no idea who he was, he was a complete stranger to me and I had to pretend I loved him. Pulling the covers back, I was half considering taking him back home, but it was too late for that now. No, now I had to see this through. I had his cell phone. Tomorrow I would call one of his friends or family - whoever had called the most on his phone’s history or the first speed dial. I would demand a ransom and all the while, he would be oblivious to the fact that he had been kidnapped. 

It felt cruel and occasionally, as I thought about it, I would feel a sudden flash of heat as panic and guilt washed over me. Glancing at him once more, I knew I would have to be prepared for the possibility that at any time he would remember who he was. Before switching off the light, I made a mental note to obtain some handcuffs and chloroform - I have friends in the business. 

*

The following morning when I woke up, I couldn’t help but turn a worried frown in his direction; he hadn’t moved all night, not even a hand. He was still curled up in the same position, not an inch of the sheet around him seemed warm. Looking at his face he seemed very pale. Was he naturally pale? Was it just that in the light of day I could see it? Or was he really ill? Was the concussion worse than I thought? Was he ill or dying as I watched him? 

I needed a second opinion, but I couldn’t go to a doctor for it could I? What was I going to say when he saw a famous rock star lying in my bed? If it wasn’t reported yet that he’d been kidnapped it certainly would when I made the ransom demand. More than ever, I considered taking him back to his own place, but in daylight that would be tricky. I could maybe drive somewhere and dump him, but... But I couldn’t. 

Every time I looked at him he brought out a strange instinct in me; I wanted to take care of him. I put it down to the Florence Nightingale Effect. I’d hurt him and I wanted to make him better, but I was worried about him. It didn’t make any sense; I knew nothing about him, why should I care? I didn’t know why, but I did care. My breath hitched as I saw him finally stir in his sleep. If his memory came back now, I had no way of restraining him. All I could do was hope.

I watched intently, almost fascinated by the tiny movements and noises that signalled his waking. The first thing I noticed was the crumple of the bridge of his nose as the beginnings of a frown started to form. His breathing deepened and quickened and I heard a faint murmur - that name again, Pete. He called it out when he was in his house and it was the first coherent thing he’d said since I got him in the car. Was he his boyfriend or something? I realised that I’d have to do a little research on him, if only so I could try not to say something that might trigger his memory. Whoever this Pete was, it seemed likely that he’d be the one I should call. Then listening more, amongst the incoherent jumble, I heard him say ‘who?’ and I realised he was reliving the fall in his dream. I didn’t know what to do - should I wake him up? Would the shock do more harm? Or worse - would he remember everything? 

Then the decision was taken away from me and I almost jumped back in shock as he sat bolt upright screaming. His screams of terror faded quickly only to be succeeded by moans of pain as his aching muscles reeled against the shock of the movement. Gasping for breath, his eyes rolling, he fell back on the pillow. I noticed. Beads of sweat had formed on his brow and he had paled still further.

“I... I’m...” he slurred.

Finally, unable to elaborate, he rolled onto his side, grimacing as his muscles screamed their objections. Hanging his head over the side of the bed, obviously too weak and uncoordinated to do more, his shoulders shook as his stomach heaved and I realised he was going to be sick.

“No! Wait!” I cried in panic.

With hindsight, it was a fairly stupid thing to shout. The man was in a great deal of pain, concussed and suffering trauma-induced amnesia. Did I really think he was going to have the control to stop or even delay what was already happening to him?

Then the strangest thing happened. And when I say strange, I really mean it. I expected to be angry. He had just emptied the contents of his stomach on my bedroom floor. The overpowering acrid smell and the sound of his retching and coughing would normally have made me feel ill too, but somehow, I was able to dismiss all of that, distracted by the pitiful sight of him. Too weak to even support himself, he was almost hanging over the side, his shuddering breaths and coughs bringing tears to his eyes as his muscles forced themselves to work in reverse. I could see his cheeks trying to redden with the effort but such a severe pallor had already built in him he just appeared almost grey. 

It was a few seconds before I realised from a short series of uncoordinated movements that he was finished but too weak to push himself back onto the bed. Before I knew it, I was at his side, lifting him gently back onto the bed and resting his head down onto the pillow. Smoothing his hair back from his sweat soaked brow, I found myself making soothing sounds, trying to encourage him to rest and relax.

“Shh, it’s all right,” I cooed at him, gently running my thumb over his brow, smoothing out the frown lines.  
“I’m sorry,” he whispered. 

In those two words, I swear I thought my heart would burst. He had no memories; he couldn’t even remember his own name. And what had I done? I’d lied to him, kidnapped him, hurt him yet he was apologising to me! I felt terrible and my eyes blurred with my own tears.

“Shh,” I said again as I cupped his cheek. “Don’t be sorry, it’s all okay. Just relax, I’ll take care of it.”  
“But...” he breathed, now obviously too tired to argue much further.  
“Rest,” I insisted, firmly but gently. “I’ll get you some water.”

Normally, I’d be running in a panic to fetch cleaning fluids and paper towels, but all I wanted to do was make sure he was okay. It didn’t feel forced, I didn’t have to pretend; he was just so easy to care about. Slipping out to get him a glass of water, I could see from the glazed expression that he was already forcing himself to stay awake and a quick rinse and a few sips later, I watched him close his eyes. A little colour had returned to his cheeks by now and I sighed with relief as the creases on his forehead relaxed and straightened. 

It took almost thirty minutes to clear the mess and disinfect the area to my satisfaction, I’m nothing if not fastidious and after washing my hands thoroughly, I flopped down on the couch in my living room. Having spent the next thirty minutes doing a little research, I set the laptop on the cushion next to me and pondered my next move. 

In my hands I turned Patrick’s cell phone and to my right, my laptop was open on his Wikipedia page. I had already decided, long since decided who I would call. It would be Pete. He was one of his speed dials, high in the call log history and, according to various sites, his best friend. No the question wasn’t ‘who would I call?’. The question was ‘would I even make the call?’. I couldn’t believe I was even considering this, but would it be so bad? Would it be so wrong if I kept him? If I told him his name was Martin Young; that he was my boyfriend and we lived together, would that be so wrong?

I kept just staring at the phone in my hand. I still couldn’t believe the thoughts that were spinning around in my mind. How could I possibly even be contemplating keeping him? It was a ridiculous thing even to think. 

It would be different if it were a romantic novel. Then, he would be a victim of an accident, lost on a lonely road and wandering... no, staggering down winding snow covered lanes or through dense woods. Picking his way around trees with stark, twisted branches, with the eyes of a dozen nocturnal animals peering out through the dark, watching our injured and frightened hero. 

I would be the heroine, returning home from a moonlight walk full of soul searching and contemplation, during which I would be calling to the stars for a man who could bring magic and love to my joyless and empty life. I would find him lying in the road, collapsed and hurt. Enamoured of his pale but perfect features, I would take him home and slowly nurse him back to health, during which time we would fall deeply and passionately in love.

But this isn’t a romantic novel, this is real life, and while he is, in fact, an innocent victim, it was certainly no accident that brought him to me. No, I had violated his very being. Hurt him, kidnapped him, lied to him. And here I was, actually considering taking it several stages further. I was appalled at my own behaviour, but doing nothing to stop myself.

It was time I did something to broach the subject and I decided that the best way to talk myself out of it was to imagine how it would play out. And, yes, I know what you’re thinking - that’s not the best way at all! The best way would be to just accept that it was a stupid idea; stupid and cruel. In reality, if what I was about to do was going to achieve anything at all, it would be to convince myself that I could actually do it. And you know what? I think, deep down, I knew that. If I’m honest, I think that’s exactly why I did it. 

When I pictured it in my mind, naturally, it all went exactly the way I hoped it would – how convenient!

I would still send a text to Pete, but I would pretend to be Patrick and make some excuse why I was not contactable. Or maybe I wouldn’t bother going into detail, it was less to think about that way and really, it was unnecessary - what did it matter to me what he thought? I was off to a very unrealistic start but ignoring it to allow myself to think ahead.

From that moment on, he would be Martin Young. He had been going out for five years and lived together for three. He had no job as such, but he would accompany me and help me in my robberies. I’d like to say we could give that up and get proper jobs, but he has no identification, social security number or proof of any qualifications. I can’t even begin to guess at what he was good at in school, or even how educated he is. He could be a high school drop out or a college professor! I don’t know!

So, no, he would help me with my robberies. I know it’s kind of mean to do that to him, but what else is he going to do? Besides, he doesn’t know any different now, does he? 

But that was a long way off. First, I had to nurse him back to health. From the way he had moved earlier, I was happy to assume that, miraculously, he had no broken bones. But he did seem severely bruised, which, of course, is bad enough. 

Over the next few weeks as he rested and recovered, I’d rebuild his memory with whatever I wanted him to believe. It didn’t need to be detailed. In fact it was better if it wasn’t – I couldn’t hope to create a complete set of fake memories. I’d just make something up as I went, if I contradicted myself, I’d just say he’d forgotten what I’d told him.

There was no need to ransom him. It wasn’t as though I was desperate for the money. I was comfortable enough. So much so, that if I chose to, I could live in the same street as him, I could. I had more than enough money, but my chosen profession dictated that I keep a low profile.

As I thought about him, the image of him still lodged in my mind drew a silly smile to my lips and I wondered how many others found themselves falling for his quiet charm and gentle, boyish good looks.

I felt like I was half way there already, but I couldn’t help but wonder if one day, we would fall in love for real? Perhaps we would marry? Then maybe start a family? 

It was all sheer fantasy, of course, and to bring myself back down to earth, I reminded myself that the best part was that if I don’t end up falling for him, I can still ransom him back. I know there’s also a chance he won’t fall for me, but he won’t leave. I have several sets of handcuffs and a large bottle of chloroform arriving today that will see to that.

I couldn’t lose – or, at least that was the real fantasy I was spinning myself.

Already my fingers were flying over the keys sending a text message to Pete. It was vague to the point of mysterious, but it didn’t matter. My life with this beautiful, gentle and handsome man was just beginning and I was determined now that nothing would stop me.

*

The message tone that he had chosen, designed to irritate others when it pronounced itself loudly, was starting to deeply annoy him. He made a mental note to try to remember to change it before another came in. Too late a second text message arrived almost immediately.

It had already interrupted the gentle nap he was enjoying. Stretched out on the couch, supported by a set of cushions that were plump but not too firm. In fact, they were perfect and he had lost himself in the comfort of sleep over an hour ago. Now in a deep sleep, the incessant ear-piercing siren sound announcing the arrival of the two new messages came as both an annoyance and a shock. Only minutes later, the loud wail sounded again. Not a new message this time, just a reminder that the others had arrived.

“What?” Pete snapped as he reached out a fumbling hand and patted the nearby coffee table until his hand fell on the offending cell phone.

Picking it up, Pete tried to focus bleary eyes on the screen. The first, a daily report from his personal assistant at Decaydance kept him up to date with a brief summary of the day’s events so far. The second was from Patrick. Opening the message, Pete squinted and frowned as he read it. Somehow convincing himself that he had misread the bizarre message due to sleepiness, Pete sat up, rubbed his eyes and tried again. Even on the second reading, the message made no sense and only served to leave him with a deep sense of concern that bored on panic. Staring at the screen he read it a third time.

‘Pete, I’m done with the band, it’s not what I want any more. I’m going away; don’t try to contact me.’

“Patrick?” Pete frowned deeply at the message that seemed so very unlike him.

Pressing only two buttons, Pete waited impatiently for the sound of Patrick’s phone ringing, only to receive a message that the phone was now switched off. Pete’s brow creased deeply as he tried to make sense of the uncharacteristic message, concluding only that something had to be wrong. Snatching up his keys, Pete headed for his car.


	3. Damn! That man could kiss!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pete gets the police involved and Patrick has a memory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone reading this and to LovelyOrbit in particular for leaving a comment. It's always good to hear if people are enjoying it - it makes me want to work hard make it interesting for you!! :)

Pete brought his Land Rover to a screeching halt in Patrick’s driveway, only inches from Patrick’s dark blue Civic. Stepping quickly from the vehicle, the engine still pinging as it cooled, Pete nodded to himself as he eyed the Honda.

“Well, you’re back and you haven’t gone anywhere, have you,” smiling at his own car, which was now blocking the drive, he added, “and you’re not going to either.”

Walking at a steady but brisk pace up to the door, Pete rang the doorbell two or three times and waited impatiently. No response only served to annoy him further and he rapped on the door and hit the bell three more times.

“I know you’re back, Patrick,” he yelled through the solid door. “Your car’s here! And I still have your spare key, so if you don’t let me in, I’m coming in anyway!” 

Receiving no reply, Pete frowned angrily and pushed his hand deep into his pocket, fishing out a bunch of keys. Choosing the silver-coloured key, Pete fitted it into the lock and let himself in. Inside, Pete was met with the unnerving stony silence of a completely empty house. At first, he was taken aback, falling silent himself and looking around for signs that Patrick was at home. He had been there only the previous morning gathering the post and setting it down in two piles on the hall table. One of junk, the other of things that might be interesting. He thought Patrick would filter a few of them out for the junk pile, but he, at least, thought they could be fun to open if nothing else. Noticing that one pile had been disturbed, Pete knew that Patrick had at least come home.

“Patrick!” he called with still no response. “Patrick? Are you here? You better not be hiding from me, man! I’m calling the police so if you’re hiding, you better come out now!”

Sighing at still no reply, Pete tried his other pocket and withdrew his phone. He paused with a moment’s hesitation before unlocking the keypad and dialling 911; a grave expression fixed on his face.

*

I’ve never watched anyone sleep before. I couldn’t decide if it was the action of watching or something about him personally, but it was surprisingly calming and before long I found myself feeling sleepy too. Spooning up alongside him, I allowed my arm to flop over his waist and almost immediately fell into a restful, comfortable sleep.

Waking less than an hour later, I blinked before my eyes widened at the realisation that I was alone. Pushing myself quickly off the bed, I was panicking already. Had he got his memory back? Had he escaped? Did I need to grab some stuff and get out of there? Were the police going to be knocking on my door any moment? But even as all these thoughts were crushing me, as I rolled off the bed I heard the toilet flush. I nearly collapsed with relief, but I had to pull it together quickly - any moment he would be back and I had to behave normally.

Only seconds later, I heard a loud thud a few yards outside my door and realised that he had collapsed. Rushing to help him, I found him slumped against the wall, his eyes rolling with dizziness and disorientation.

“Martin!” I cried pityingly, still trying to convince his memoryless mind that he was my boyfriend. “Why are you out here on your own?”  
“I needed the bathroom,” Patrick explained shakily. “But you were sleeping so peacefully, I didn’t want to disturb you.”

My heart sank; how could I do this to him?

“Here, let me help you back to our room,” I offered, bending low and pulling his arm over my shoulder.

As I got him finally to his feet, he asked me the question I was dreading.

“What happened to me?” he asked in a pained whisper, as we walked slowly back to the bedroom. “I... I don’t remember anything. I don’t remember you. I... I’m sorry.”  
“Don’t worry, Martin, you’ll remember everything in time, I’m sure.”  
“But what happened?” he pressed.  
“Let me get you lying down first.” 

I now realised that I didn’t want to tell him what I had planned to say. What if the idea was so abhorrent to his basic nature that it triggered his memory? The chloroform and handcuffs had arrived about an hour earlier. I had transferred some of the chloroform into a squeezy bottle so I could apply it to the cloth faster. That was currently residing in the top draw of the bedside cabinet and one set of handcuffs was hanging down the back of the bed off the headboard. If he remembered anything, all I had to do was push his hand backwards and snap the cuff around his wrist. I already hated myself and I was about to hate myself more. As I helped him to lie down, pulling the sheets back over him, I perched on the edge of the bed and spun the biggest lie of my life.

“Your name’s Martin Young, we’ve been together for about three years and you’ve lived here for the last eight months.”

Patrick stared up at me, the guilty expression on his face as he remembered nothing of what I was telling him almost broke my heart. There was a moment that I really thought he was going to cry. Reaching forward, I smoothed his hair and softly stroked his brow.

“It’s all right, sweetheart,” I tried to calm him. “You’ll remember soon enough.”  
“But I... I don’t even know your name,” he whispered.  
“It’s Rebecca, honey, but you call me Bex.”  
“How did we meet... Bex?” he asked me still uncertain how to react towards me. I could see that there was no feeling there and I didn’t expect any but I could see that it was tearing him apart to feel so awkward around me when I was telling him that we were in love. Of course, now I was going to shatter him completely.  
“We met... On the same job.”  
“We work together? What do we do?”  
“We’re thieves.” 

My breath hitched as I waited to see how he would react. Sure enough, he paled even more and his eyes displayed such a pained expression that I desperately wanted to take the words back. He was shaking his head lightly and refusing to believe it. And why should he? It wasn’t even close to the truth. I felt like a real bitch to upset him so much.

“Martin, I didn’t mean to upset you...” I began but I didn’t know where to go with the sentence. Of course I’d meant to upset him! How else did I think he’d react? I didn’t like that I’d upset him, but that isn’t the same thing. 

Part of me was relieved that I’d managed to tell him the biggest lie I could possibly have done and, while I wouldn’t go so far as to say that he accepted it, he didn’t argue with me. He still didn’t remember anything.

“I... I think I need to rest some more,” he finally managed.  
“Martin...” I began only to be interrupted.  
“I don’t want to be a thief,” he insisted, his voice choked and strained. “Maybe it’s the knock to the head, I don’t know, but I don’t think I’ll feel different when I remember.”  
“I won’t ask you to do anything you don’t want to,” I replied stroking his hair once more. “Now, shh. You just relax and rest.” I sighed, worried at the continued look of distress etched on his pale face. “I guess this is more than you bargained for.”

And there it was. I could almost see it; a glimmer of a memory. His forehead creased slightly at the words and his smooth translucent skin flushed slightly as very briefly the memory flitted past his eyes too fast to see. Then it was gone, frustratingly out of reach. My relief was almost obvious and I tried to hide it with possibly the most feeble excuse ever.

“There! You see? You’re starting to remember things aren’t you? I told you you would. What did you remember?” I had to know.  
“Nothing,” he sighed tiredly. “It came and went too fast. Will I ever remember?”  
“Of course, sweetheart!” I said comfortingly, but all the while I was thinking ‘Not if I can help it’. “But you should rest now. I’ll stay until you fall asleep.”

Plumping the pillow under his head, I watched him close his eyes and start to drift off still mildly concussed; it didn’t take much for him to become overwhelmingly tired.  
Staying at his side hadn’t been an act of kindness, however it looked. Once I knew he was sleeping, I withdrew the chloroform from the top drawer. Soaking the cloth, I place it gently over his nose and mouth forcing him into a deeper sleep with each gentle breath.

He had remembered something. What I had said was so innocuous... harmless. And yet it had triggered a memory. This was going to be harder than I had imagined. But that didn’t mean I was giving up.

*

“And you got this message when?” Detective Mitcham asked as he looked over his notes.  
Pete glanced at his watch. “Just under an hour ago.”  
“I can see that it troubled you and you’d want to talk him out of it maybe, but why do you think it’s anything more than what he said?”  
“He said he was done with the band, that it wasn’t what he wanted any more.” Pete paused; not a fan he thought. “We’re on hiatus. There is no band right now; he doesn’t have to say anything. Plus he’s just come back from vacation...”  
“You’re certain he returned? You checked with the airline that he was on the plane?”  
“I don’t need to, his car’s here, he was here, he checked his post. And… And there’s blood on the wall and stairs,” Pete’s voice faded almost to nothing as he spoke the words.  
“We have a forensics team on the way. Have you spoken to him lately?” Mitcham asked.  
“Yes!” Pete cried in exasperation. “He was happy, just coming back from vacation. He was happy. There is no way he wrote that message!”  
“And you think he was kidnapped?” 

Pete nodded, hardly wanting to actually answer the question.

“Have you been contacted by a kidnapper?”  
“No,” Pete sighed hopelessly. “Does that mean you don’t believe me?”  
“No, but it makes it harder.”  
“I’m not making this up!” Pete yelled.  
“No,” Mitcham corrected, “I mean it makes it harder to find him if he’s not being ransomed.”  
“You mean you think someone’s taken him, but not for money?” Pete stared in astonishment.  
“Tell me, did he have a stalker? Any fan mail getting a little too friendly? Or threatening?”  
“I don’t know,” Pete shook his head. “Our management company and press agency deal with most of the fan mail. Any crank stuff is filtered out.”  
“Do they keep it?”  
“I don’t know,” Pete shook his head.  
“I’m going to need to see it, all of it.”  
“All of it?” Pete gasped. “You’ll need an army to go through it all!”  
“You said he was looking through his post? We’ll need to take that too.”  
“You think this is a fan stalking him?” Pete frowned deeply.  
“It wouldn’t be the first time a celebrity has been snatched by an obsessive fan,” Mitcham explained to the increasingly worried Pete.  
“But how can you find them?”  
“We start with the letters.”  
“I’m going to help you,” Pete insisted.  
“That won’t be necessary, Mr Wentz,” the detective shook his head.  
“I’m helping you!” Pete pressed.

*

Patrick sat up in bed trying hard to wake up. Opening and closing his eyes repeatedly, he sighed, almost yawned. He felt unnaturally tired and was understandably concerned by it. He knew he’d taken a blow to the head; was his - he would almost describe it as dizziness - somehow related?  
Pushing the covers back, Patrick gingerly swung his legs out of the bed. Pressing his feet gently onto the deep carpet, Patrick allowed his toes to sink into the fibres. Somehow it was a comforting feeling and he relished every moment. But now it was time to make his way to the bathroom again. The last visit hadn’t been all that successful - he had collapsed on his way back. But this time, he felt stronger, if a little dizzy. Standing shakily, he headed towards the door. Walking slowly he felt like a newborn deer taking its first steps; it was almost as if his legs refused to cooperate. 

“Come on, Pa... Huh?”

Patrick frowned in confusion. He had very nearly called himself by another name. He wasn’t certain what, as it was gone before he had finished the first syllable, but it certainly hadn’t been Martin. It wasn’t making any sense to him at all. Perhaps Bex would be able to fill in the gaps? The shock of hearing that he was a thief had not left him, but perhaps she could explain more about it and why he remembered a different name, well, almost remembered. 

“Martin! What are you doing out of bed again?” I cried as I opened the door, much to Patrick’s surprise.  
“I need the bathroom,” he explained almost shyly.  
“I’m sorry,” I frowned reaching for his hand to lead him. “I’ll help you. I don’t want you to collapse again.”  
“Bex?” Patrick ventured as she helped him toward the door. “I just remembered something.”  
“Yes?” I tried hard to sound encouraged and happy for him, but my heart was pounding in my chest. “I remembered my name, well I think so, part of it. But it wasn’t Martin.”

I sighed deeply as if I was being forced to tell him something I didn’t want to. It actually wasn’t far from the truth. The look on his face told me that he was telling me because he didn’t doubt me for a moment. He wanted me to explain and I’d had a lot of time to think about it. I didn’t know how much of his name he had remembered but I was going to have to tell him that his real name was Patrick and hope... no, pray that he wouldn’t remember more. I felt for the small polythene bag in my pocket; the knowledge that a cloth soaked in chloroform lay inside gave me comfort. That and the fact that Patrick was in no condition to fight me.

“I don’t think you’re ready for this, Martin,” I stalled. “You’re still in shock over the last thing I told you. I think you need to be a bit stronger.”

He smiled at me. It was a genuine smile that showed he understood that I cared, but as it faded, I knew he wanted to hear what I had to say anyway.

“Let’s get you sorted out first,” I nodded, helping him to the bathroom. “After this, do you think you could eat something?”

I noticed Patrick frowning deeply and his eyes almost rolled back at the very thought of it.

“No, no, it was just an idea,” I blurted. “When you’re ready and feeling better.”  
“Besides,” Patrick added miserably, “It looks as though you’re about to tell me something that’ll take away any appetite I may have.”

I waited outside the bathroom door hoping that Patrick would be all right. He was certainly still very shaky on his feet, but something about him suggested that he was stronger, if only a little. A few minutes passed after I’d heard the flush and I was beginning to worry. 

“Martin?” I called.  
“I’ll be out in a minute!” came the muffled reply.  
“What are you doing in there?”  
“Brushing my teeth,” he called back, again muffled.

I started to worry. He was remembering more and more without even realising it. He knew which toothbrush was his; he had almost remembered his name. This called for drastic measures. As the door opened again, I sighed in relief as he accepted my arm to return to the bedroom. 

Settling himself on the bed, Patrick looked tired. The short walk to the bathroom and back had exhausted him. Of course the doses of chloroform were also helping in that department. They were supposed to help cloud his memory too and perhaps they were? Perhaps he was likely to remember everything otherwise? It was impossible to tell.

“Are you sure you want to hear this?” I asked, curling my fingers gently around his hand.

By now, he was so tense; he didn’t even speak, but just nodded his reply.

“Your real name is Patrick Gardiner. You skipped bail in Oklahoma and you’re wanted by the police. You changed your name to start a new life.”  
“With you?” he asked almost hopefully.  
“No,” I shook my head, “I came along a little later.”

Placing his free hand over mine, Patrick leaned towards me.

“I’m glad you did,” he took a sudden deep breath. “Who else would look after me like this?”

Drawn by his beautiful blue-green eyes, I found myself leaning in until we were so close I could feel his hot, and now minty, breath on my lips. Closing the gap, he pressed his lips to mine. They were soft and the kiss firm but tender. Before I knew it, my arms were around him, my right hand running through his fine blond hair. Pulling me closer, his kiss felt suddenly more urgent, but I was melting against him. I should have been elated that he had truly accepted everything I had said and believed me to be his girlfriend. And I was, don’t get me wrong, but all coherent thought had long since slipped away and I was just his. As he slowly pulled away, I stared into his eyes longing for more. Damn! That man could kiss! But he was tired. Lowering him gently onto the pillow once more, I pulled the covers back over him. There had been a spark, a definite frisson of electricity between us. I was left with the feeling that if we had just met, in a bar or a park, that we would have hit it off immediately. That could never be now. All I could hope was that he would never remember who he really was.

.  
.


	4. You Look So Good In Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pete has to read a lot of disturbing 'fan' mail and Bex really slips up

Pete pushed another pile of letters away with a look of distaste on his unshaven face. He had worked through the night only stopping to call Ashlee to explain why he wouldn’t be home. A brief chat with his son had raised the single smile to his lips that he had managed since receiving the strange message and it seemed that it might also be the last one he would experience until this was over.

 

_“I’m kinda glad that he’s used to me being away so much,” he admitted as Ashlee took the receiver once more. “He doesn’t get upset when I don’t come home, but I do. I’m already missing you both like crazy.”_   
_“Don’t worry about us, just find Patrick,” she replied gravely._   
_“You believe it, don’t you?” he asked with the same sombre tone._   
_“I wish I could say I didn’t, but it doesn’t look good. There’s no way he would say that. Even if he hasn’t been kidnapped, something’s definitely wrong.”_   
_“I love you, Ash,” Pete sighed, holding on to the one happy thought in his troubled mind._   
_“I love you too,” she replied, the words obviously meant, but the tone tired and drained._   
_“Kiss Bronx for me.”_   
_“I will and... Pete?”_   
_“Yeah?”_   
_“No heroics, okay? Your son needs a father and I don’t want to have to tell him you were an idiot.”_

_Pete had been wrong - the comment that masked her true concerns raised an unexpected laugh._

_“I promise, Ash. Patrick’s my best friend, but you and Bronx are my life.”_

 

The all too brief chat was over long ago and he was tired - physically and mentally.

“You don’t have to do this, you know,” Mitcham commented, obtaining only a monosyllabic grunt from Pete by way of a reply. “They’re a bit shocking, aren’t they?”

Pete glanced up, blankly at first, before realising that Mitcham was referring to the letters. Taking a deep breath, Pete cast a disgusted glance at the pile he had just pushed away.

“I know now why the agency filter them out. I had no idea what sort of stuff people think it’s okay to write about. It was kind of funny at first, you know, total strangers talking about what they’d like to do with me... Or to me or whoever their sick hearts want. But some of them... When they start lashing out at my wife, that’s going too far. Some people are actually suggesting anything from leaving her to killing her!”  
“We actually filtered out the worst ones,” Mitcham admitted.  
“The worst ones?” Pete paled. “There’s worse than this?”  
“We pulled anything that involved your son. There are some very sick people out there.”

Pete’s eyes widened and he slammed his fists down onto the table in anger and horror.

“The sick, twisted bastards!” he screamed. “My son! Can’t you arrest them?”  
“We’ve no idea who they are. They’re sick, but they’re not stupid.”

Pete grew suddenly subdued and quiet. As he looked at the stacks of letters, ranging from marriage proposals and mild postal stalking to threats of murder, kidnapping and even pedophilia, he couldn’t help but lose himself in a wave of worry.

“What’s wrong, Pete?” Mitcham asked, hoping the sudden thoughtful silence might indicate an idea forming.  
“I’m just trying to get my head around the idea that one of these psychos might have Patrick.”  
“Yeah, it’s possible,” Mitcham agreed gravely.  
“But look at them all,” Pete sighed hopelessly. “How are we going to find who it is? There’re thousands! And why are we looking at all of them? Why aren’t we concentrating on the ones involving Patrick? In fact, I haven’t seen many involving Patrick and I know he’s loved… even if it is by psychos!”  
“I have a team dealing with Patrick’s letters already,” Mitcham explained.  
“Then what am I doing? Are you just humouring me?” Pete frowned; the resultant expression somewhere between angry and confused.  
“Far from it,” Mitcham replied firmly. “Band obsession rarely focuses on one member for very long. You’ve probably noticed that some of the letters are up to a year old. Thankfully, your Agency saved the lot so we can do a full comparison. You’re following the criteria we gave you and fishing out the really disturbed individuals with more than a casual fixation. It’s possible that, at some point, before moving on to Patrick, someone has been obsessed with any of you. Or that they’re now turned their attentions to you and Patrick is an old obsession.”  
“If he’s an old obsession, why would they take him?” Pete sighed.  
“Let’s say she now obsesses over you; you have three possibilities. One, he was available, and it was just a stroke of luck. Two, she wants to make you jealous. Three… she’s going for more than one of you, which might explain the lack of a ransom demand.”  
“Or,” Pete argued, not wanting to believe the options. “What if it’s nothing to do with this? What if this is all a pointless waste of time?”

It was almost a question, almost a statement. Pete’s wide but saddened eyes closed as Mitcham nodded in reply.

“It might be, but it’s the only lead we have right now.” Mitcham frowned at the tired and bleak expression fixed on Pete’s pale face. “Why don’t you take a break? Get some sleep? It’s not a pleasant task, take some time out.”

Reaching for another pile of neatly bundled letters, Pete sighed his reluctance.

“It doesn’t matter how much I hate this, we have to find him.”

*

“How do you feel today?” I asked cheerfully.

Patrick rolled over in the bed and looked at me. I could tell that he was still feeling guilty that he couldn’t remember me, but he had already told me that the way he was thinking about it was that it would be fun to get to know me all over again and then, when his memory did return, he would have all the extra memories to enjoy too. I agreed with him, under any other circumstance it would be both an ingenious and romantic idea, but of course, I was still hoping that his real memory would never return.

“I’m feeling a lot better, thank you,” he smiled at me - his nurse - and ran his fingers through my hair, gently pushing it back away from my face. “In fact, I feel hungry,” he continued.  
“Really?” I replied, elated by the news - he really was improving. “I’ll make you some breakfast. I have eggs, bacon...”  
“Maybe a little toast?” Patrick interrupted with a slight grimace, suddenly losing his enthusiasm for eating at the thought of a large fried breakfast.  
“I’m sorry,” I replied lowering my eyes sheepishly, “I got carried away.”  
“That’s okay,” Patrick offered me a bright smile. “But I really do feel much better. I’d like to take a shower too, maybe get up?”  
“You are feeling better!” I grinned at the news. “I’ll fetch your towels.”  
“We have our own personal towels?” Patrick chuckled. “At home, I never...”

Patrick frowned deeply; his sentence trailing off with the surprise of its very content and I think my heart may have actually stopped for a few moments. He was remembering, or at least starting to remember more and more without even trying to. It was making me very nervous and I was beginning to worry. Should I give this up and just ransom him? I looked into his eyes, grateful that I saw no glimmer of the knowledge of who he was. I thought I had given too much away; that I seemed worried or apprehensive, but to him, apparently I just looked anxious or even eager to hear his memory.

“I’m sorry,” he sighed, frustrated that his memory lay just out of reach. “It’s gone… again.”

He looked at me, with my desperate attempt to appear disappointed for him. Goodness only knows what I looked like, but he appeared concerned.

“Don’t worry, Bex,” he smiled faintly. “I will remember, it’ll all come back and we’ll be the same as we ever were... better than before! I promise.”

I couldn’t help myself, I just burst into tears. It was ridiculous! I had no idea why I was crying. He hadn’t remembered and that’s what I needed, but my heart was breaking for him, he was so upset and yet here he was trying to cheer me up. I had made the biggest mistake of my life and had no idea what to do about it. I was falling for him hard and I couldn’t keep this going, I just couldn’t. But what could I do? There was no way back and no way forward. The more I thought about it, the more upset I became.

“Hey!” he cried, pulling me towards him and cradling me in his arms. “It’ll be okay, everything’s going to be okay.”  
“I’m supposed to be comforting you, not the other way around,” I finally choked out through my uncontrollable tears.  
“Why?” he asked softly, kissing my dampened cheek and gently stroking my hair. “This has got to be as much of a shock for you too. The man you love suddenly doesn’t even remember you - I don’t care how strong you are, that’s got to hurt. But, look...” he placed his fingers under my chin and gently lifted it until we were looking into each other’s eyes. Even through my blurry vision, I could see tears standing in his eyes too. “Even if I never remember, I’m already falling all over again. How could I not? You’re sweet, kind, beautiful – what more could I want? We’ll get through this... Okay?”

All I could do was nod and bury my head in his shoulder as we held each other like we’d never let go.

I absolutely hated myself.

*

I knew, even without thinking about it, that he was still too weak to stand for any length of time and I was at a bit of a loss to know what he would do about showering. As I helped him to the bathroom he told me and I had to try very hard not to seem embarrassed.

“Erm…” he began tentatively. “I’m going to need your help in the shower.”  
“I did presume as much,” I smiled at him encouragingly, but I was sure he could feel me trembling.

It wasn’t something I’d expected, but already I liked him a lot. But this new development was more than I had prepared myself for. Not only would I would see him naked, but I would be washing him too and despite my assumption that I would feel nervous and awkward, I have to admit, I almost shivered with anticipation. In fact, I was ready to suggest that, for convenience, I should get into the shower with him. Patrick, on the other hand, well it was obviously different for him. I could tell that he felt a little awkward; after all, technically he had only just met me even though I had told him that we had been together for years. I had to admire his ability to just go with it and I knew why too. Having just told me that he understood how much of a shock it must be for me, I knew he was trying hard to behave normally around me. Perhaps that was why he said he was falling for me again, but then, I didn’t believe that he would lie about that. He seemed so genuine, so sweet and caring. I suddenly realised that this wasn’t going to be awkward for me. I wanted this, in fact I wanted more. Of course, every time I allowed myself to dream about what might be, something happened to kick me right back into cold reality. It all started with an innocent question.

“Bex?” he began as I eased him down onto a chair in the bathroom.  
“Yeah?” I asked as I reached into the shower cubicle to run the water.  
“Was I ever in a band?”

I froze, my heart racing so fast I felt dizzy and lightheaded.

“Why?”

It was all I could manage. It came out choked and strained. In my panic, my mouth had dried to the point that speaking was almost painful and, to be honest, if I had tried saying any more I would have sounded breathless and scared.

“Are you okay?” he asked, picking up on my sudden change in demeanour.

I heard him try to stand and come over to me, but almost immediately he slipped back onto the chair.

“Sorry, I guess I’m not much use at the moment,” he grumbled.  
“I’m okay,” I turned, my composure finally recovered. “I think I had the water too hot, the steam kinda got to me. It’s ready now,” I said, hoping that he had forgotten his question. “Can I help you in?”  
“Er… Now that I…” Patrick stammered. “I’m not sure I can…”  
“You want me to take you back to bed?” I asked with more than a little disappointment in my tone.  
“No… I… ah…” Patrick rubbed the back of his head, apparently unable to find the right words.  
“Do you want me to wash you?” I asked, desperately hoping he would agree.  
“Yeah,” he finally sighed. “If you don’t mind, that is?”

I smiled. Did I mind? Quite the opposite!

“Of course I don’t mind!” I tried to make it sound as natural as possible and not too desperate or eager. Moving back to the chair, I took advantage of the atmosphere provided by the room now completely filled with steam. Dropping to my knees, I looked up at him, running my fingers gently across his thighs. “Would you like me to get in with you?”

I watched with anticipation for his reaction. He may have been uncertain of our relationship, he may have been awkward about his lack of memory, but apparently, when it came down to the offer of a shower with a woman he found attractive, he wasn’t the remotest bit hesitant. My smile broadened with his and I began to slowly unbutton my blouse. It wasn’t the time for a memory and I prayed he wouldn’t have one. I was also particularly pleased that he seemed to have forgotten the earlier one. Allowing my blouse to slip away, revealing a simple lacy bra underneath, I sighed happily as he slid his arm around my waist and pulled me closer.

“I…” he suddenly flushed with embarrassment. “I can’t… you know… I don’t think I have the strength… yet.”  
“Let’s just enjoy being together,” I forced a smile, slightly disappointed, but understanding.

Patrick returned the smile, happy and possibly thankful that I wasn’t demanding anything. Rising with a little uncertainty to his feet, we continued to undress in absolute silence before I led him gently and slowly towards the steaming cubicle.

Inhaling deeply as the water sprayed across his head and shoulders, it seemed as though finally he was beginning to relax. With soap already lathering in my hands, I ran my fingers across his chest then up towards his shoulders, massaging gently. With only a moment’s hesitation, my hands were behind his neck and back and my lips pressed to his. I didn’t realise how tense I was until he kissed back and I felt my shoulder muscles drop with the relief of his response. The water running down over both of us, neither of us seemed to care that the soap had now been cast aside.

*

“This was a complete waste of time wasn’t it?” Pete sighed; he didn’t sound angry, merely drained and unhappy.  
“Maybe not,” Mitcham replied in a similar tone.  
“I only found twenty seven letters out of all of these that met your criteria and you ruled them all out. How could it be anything but a waste of time?”  
“Pete… I think you should go back to your family now.”  
“But… Patrick…”  
“Look… you’ve had a shock, a bad one and… this…” Mitcham indicated the piles of letters, “well, it can’t help can it?”  
“I’ve…” Pete paled at the thought of it. “I’ve never seen anything like this before and I still can’t believe it.”  
“Nobody should see this, least of all the person it was intended for.”  
“I can’t believe… How can they hate her so much to want her dead?”  
“They don’t hate her, Pete,” Mitcham sighed tiredly.  
“Well they damn sure don’t love her!” he yelled in return, the words sticking in his throat as the emotion built in him.  
“Pete, they’re obsessed with you, dangerously and perversely obsessed with you. A normal level of interest in you would be that they might wish they were in her place, but this? Well, this is extreme, they truly believe that if it weren’t for Ashlee that they could… no, that they would have you for themselves. They almost think of her as the other woman and well… they’re deranged. I can’t explain their logic, because there isn’t any. The best thing you can do now, is to go home and take your wife and son in your arms and let them comfort you.”  
“But…”  
“Just go home, Pete, I’ll call you if there are any developments.”

Pete nodded, his eyes turned down distractedly.

“I’ll get someone to take you, you can’t drive like that.”

Nodding again, Pete looked as though he might be on the verge of tears with the only thing stopping him being his complete exhaustion.

*

“Well,” I sighed happily, running my fingers lightly in circles across Patrick’s chest. “I thought you said you didn’t have the energy?”  
Smiling wickedly, Patrick replied. “Well, I could say that the shower refreshed me, but it might have been something else.”  
“And what might that be?” I asked softly, almost coyly.  
“Well the soap had quite an invigorating scent… Ow!” he laughed as I thumped him playfully before pushing myself off the bed. “Where are you going?” he frowned leaning over and reaching for my hand.  
“I have to make you something to eat,” I grinned at him suggestively as I got dressed. “If I didn’t have a reason to keep your strength up before, I do now.”  
“Five more minutes?” he asked, as I reached for my skirt, retrieved from the bathroom, and slipped it on.  
“Later,” I smiled. “I want to make you something to eat. I’ve put some clothes out that I think will make you look gorgeous, so make me happy and prove me right.”

I watched as he reached lazily to the small pile of clothes I had set aside for him. It was nothing fancy, just a pair of jeans and a deep-blue shirt, but against his pale features and blond hair, I thought it would look fantastic. I was already dressed as he was pulling on the jeans and instead of leaving to cook, as I had planned, I watched him finish dressing. Sitting on the edge of the bed as he got his breath back, Patrick looked stunning; the deep blue set off his pale features and soft blond hair like, I was sure, no other colour could. I could barely take my eyes off him.

“I was right,” I announced confidently, “that really is your colour. You look so good in blue.”  
“What?”


	5. If he didn't hate me, I certainly did.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick's memory returns and Bex is forced to take drastic action

His head snapped up, an intense almost harsh expression on his face. I knew. I just knew that my newfound happiness had crumbled all because of a few innocent sounding words.

“So good in blue,” he mumbled quietly to himself. “So good… that means something, doesn’t it?”

Okay, so maybe I was going to get away with it? He hadn’t remembered fully, it was just a vague memory. But it meant that I hadn’t done near enough research. I was saying things that were triggering memories and I had absolutely no idea what they were or what he was remembering. Had someone said it to him before? It was such an innocuous thing to say, it was beginning to terrify me. What else would I say? When would he remember everything? It was becoming too much for me to handle. If he remembered, I would be arrested and it seemed like it was just a matter of time now. But if I assumed that he would get his memory back and I cuffed him to the bed then ransomed him, everything we had would be gone in an instant. And what if he never remembered? One way, I was throwing away the best relationship I’d ever had, the other way I could be throwing away my freedom. It was going to come down to which was more important to me.

“You’ve gone quiet,” he murmured with uncertainty.  
“I’m thinking.”

It was an honest answer, but I was thinking about my dilemma not his.

“What about?”

When I looked at him he was frowning, almost angry and I could feel myself tensing up. He was remembering, I just knew it.

“You didn’t answer my question before,” he continued before I even had a chance to reply.  
“What question?” I was sure my voice was shaky by now - partly because I knew exactly which question.  
“Was I ever in a band?”  
“What have you remembered?” I asked tentatively.  
“Why are you being so cagey all of a sudden?” he demanded. “Surely it’s yes or no? Was I in a band?”  
“No,” I lied, “you just sing around the house.”

I wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to do. Arguing with him about whatever it was he had remembered might make him think about it more. But if I told him something near to the truth he might just remember everything anyway! Potentially, I was in a no win situation and it really all came down to what he had remembered, but frustratingly, he wasn’t telling me.

“Sing?” he looked suddenly puzzled and, if I’m honest, I think I did too. “I kinda got the feeling I’m a drummer.”  
“I don’t know anything about that.”

Aside from my feelings for him, I think it was the first honest thing I’d said to him. Now we were both confused. On top of that, he was angry and I was scared; added to that, I was fairly certain that the more emotional he became, the more he was likely to recall. Don’t ask me where I was getting my so-called logic, I had no idea, but for some strange reason, I really believed it.

Pushing himself off the bed in an anger born of sheer frustration, Patrick punched the open bedroom door then instantly wished he hadn’t - it was a made of a particularly beautiful oak with a strong grain and beautiful honey colour. Not a dent was left in the hardwood door, but I felt the same wasn’t true of Patrick’s hand. With a yelp of pain and a stream of choice phrases, Patrick tucked his stinging hand under his arm and flopped back down onto the bed rocking slightly as he built up the courage to examine his painful hand.

If I’d thought about it, I’d have realised that it was more of a shove than a punch and he merely aimed to close it over than break anything. I should have been sympathetic, I should have stayed calm but somehow the incident with the door was the catalyst that allowed my fear to emerge as anger too.

“Hey!” I yelled, suddenly furious with him. Logically I knew that the door was undamaged and that he wasn’t, but I was so wound up, it was as if someone had opened the flood-gates and all of my pent up emotion, fear and confusion came pouring out. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

It was a stupid thing to say under the circumstances.

“I don’t know, do I!” he snapped back. “Everything I know is what you’ve told me, but you’re holding things back, I know you are!”  
“Oh, you know that for a fact, do you?” I shot back. “What do you know? Would you blame me if I were? You haven’t exactly reacted well to some of the things I’ve told you, have you? What would you be like if I had told you everything up front? You couldn’t have coped with it.”  
“What do you care what I think?” Patrick snapped bitterly.

I could tell it was just a reaction to his own personal confusion and frustration. I should have recognised it for what it was and just shut the hell up. But no, I was angry too, I was venting my fear and as it turned out, I was just making it worse.

“I don’t care what you think?” I yelled at him. If I had been paying attention, I would have noticed the change in his expression. Clearly I had said something else he recognised. “I don’t care what you think?” I shoved him angrily back down onto the bed as he rose to stand eye to eye with me. “Oh, never mind my feelings!” I ranted. “My feelings don’t count, after all, who the hell am I? Just the one who’s supposed to love you, that’s all! But I guess you don’t believe…”

I stopped dead as his eyes widened as he stared at me in horror.

“You were in my house!”

My eyes widened as much as his and we both froze momentarily staring at each other. Thankfully, I gathered my wits first and ploughed into him pushing him further down onto the bed. I grabbed his right arm and forced it backwards towards the headboard. Despite his weakness, he was putting up a good fight and I honestly believe that only the adrenaline coursing through me gave me the edge. Holding him down by leaning on him with my shoulder, I reached down behind the bed and swung the prepared cuff around his wrist. Stepping back breathless and flushed with alarm, I snatched at my breaths in panic as he pulled furiously on the handcuffs with his free hand.

“Who are you?” he yelled at me, switching frequently between staring up at me and struggling.

I couldn’t answer him. He was pale and afraid, but worse than that there were tears in his eyes and then as my vision blurred, I realised that I was crying too.

“I… I’m sorry, I never meant for this to happen,” I finally managed.  
“What? That I’d remember?”  
“No! I… I mean…” I think I meant yes.  
“Y…You lied to me!” he stammered. “You… You made me believe…”

I couldn’t bear the expression on his face. The hurt and betrayal in his eyes cut deep into my heart, slicing away at what remained of my self-respect. I had grown to love him and had only managed to hurt him deeper and more cruelly than I would ever have believed possible. Finally lying on his back, exhausted and afraid, he stared up and asked his next question.

“What do you want from me?”

I couldn’t answer him. Everything I wanted, I didn’t deserve. Everything I had, for even the briefest of moments, I’d lost. I didn’t know what to do, what to say, what to think. I needed time. Slowly approaching him, I tried to shut out the fear in his eyes as I opened the bedside cabinet draw. Only minutes before we had made love, gentle and sweet, yet brimming with a passion I’d never before felt and I knew it was mutual. Yet now, here he was, lying there, looking up at me and he was scared. I couldn’t bear it. Removing the cloth from the draw and placing it over his nose and mouth, I couldn’t help but notice that he barely struggled. Was he exhausted? Or did he too want to forget the pain we were both now suffering?

It was probably wishful thinking. It was time for a reality check and the reality was I had tried to hijack his life. If he didn’t hate me, I certainly did.

 

*

 

I flopped down on the couch in my living room. I’d started to cry before I chloroformed him and I don’t think I stopped. I don’t remember going downstairs. I must have been on autopilot; it’s a wonder I didn’t fall myself. What I wouldn’t give to wipe out a few memories of my own right now. Which ones? Taking him? Falling for him? Making love? No, of course none of those, but I’d do anything to wipe from my mind the memory of the expression his face as he remembered who he was and more importantly, who I was. As my tears ran dry, I decided that I would stop fooling myself. When he woke, he wouldn’t love me, he wouldn’t even like me and it was no more than I deserved. I had originally kidnapped him with the intent of ransoming him and that’s exactly what I was going to do now. I had to be tough, if only to protect myself from the abuse I was sure to receive. I’m not saying I don’t deserve it, but I had to pretend it didn’t touch me. It would be the only way I could stop myself bursting into tears every time I looked at him.

Switching on his cell phone once more, I shouldn’t have been surprised to see a dozen or more messages. One from someone called Joe, probably the guitarist, who was just forwarding a joke, several others, whose names I don’t recall from my research and of course the remaining ones were from Pete. I scrolled through them:

 

_Patrick? What’s wrong?_

_Talk to me man! I’m at lights, nearly at yours. Please talk to me!_

_You’re scaring me now. You didn’t send it, did you?_

_I know Patrick didn’t write that message. Who are you? Where is he?_

_If you hurt him, I’ll kill you! I swear I’ll kill you!_

_Contact me! What do you want with him? Don’t hurt him, please!_

 

The increasingly desperate messages caused an unpleasant tightening in my throat but it was time to harden and salvage something… anything from this mess. I decided to send a message.

 

*

 

Immediately on returning home, Pete had headed straight for his son’s room and had, for at least thirty minutes, been content to simply watch him sleeping soundly with a slight smile fixed on his face.

He now sat alone in his study. He wasn’t sure if Ashlee was convinced that he was okay or not, but he had avoided any possible confrontation and, at least for the moment, found some quiet time for himself. He hadn’t been able to explain; he had barely spoken a word since his return home.

“Pete?” Ashlee called softly from the door, repeating herself when met with no reply.

Finally, he turned having managed to summon up a half-hearted smile. He could see by his wife’s expression that she wasn’t the slightest bit convinced by the act. Gesturing from where she still stood at the door, Ashlee waited patiently until Pete rose. Once he was making his way to her, she moved away, heading for their own bedroom.

“Ash…” Pete began. “I’m sorry, I should have found you first.”

Without a word, Ashlee led him to the bed and encouraged him to sit. Settling herself next to him, she took his left hand gently in both of hers.

“Pete? Tell me the truth, are you okay?”  
“I think it was a waste of time,” he sighed. “We’re no nearer finding him… or even knowing what happened.”  
“As much as I care about Patrick, first, I want to know about you,” she replied softly.  
“What about me?”  
“You don’t fool me, Pete,” she smiled with concern. “You’re not yourself…”  
“Then who am I?” he replied dismissively, refusing to look at her.  
“Don’t be like that.”  
“Like what?”

Sighing heavily, Ashlee let go of his hand and rose to her feet only to have him take her hand again and pull her back with an obviously desperate grip.

“I’m sorry… I… I didn’t want to…” Pete’s voice tapered off for want of knowing what to say.  
“Do you want to talk about it?” Ashlee encouraged, taking a seat next to him again.  
Pete frowned deeply with knit brows as he thought about the question. “I don’t even want to think about it.”  
“Okay,” she nodded slowly. “You know where I am if you want to talk.”  
“Ash…?” Pete ventured tentatively. “It wouldn’t help to upset you too.”

The reply was a blatant attempt to explain that something was indeed very wrong, but that his hesitation was a form of protection, trying to spare her the pain he had endured. Ashlee took a different view.

“If it would help you, it would upset me less,” she replied kindly.

Pete dropped his head into his hands and hunched forward, sighing heavily, now even more uncertain than before over his best course of action.

“Tell me, Pete,” Ashlee begged, kneeling in front of him. “Talk to me.”  
“I had to read fan mail… except, it wasn’t, not really.”  
“What do you mean?”  
“It was written by psychos,” his voice barely above a whisper.  
“Psychos?” Ashlee pressed, surprised by the revelation.  
“They want to… they were pretty graphic.”  
“Pete, they don’t have to be psychos to want to be with you. I know fans want to sleep with you, it’s hardly a secret.”  
“No… That’s not what… They want me single…”  
“Well, that…”

About to agree that it made sense that they should want him ‘available’, only now Ashlee saw the deeply disturbed look in her husband’s eyes. Almost instantly the connection between his comment about psychos and their wish for him to become single suddenly became clear to her.

“Oh!” Without another word, Ashlee closed the gap between them and took Pete in her arms. “It’s okay.”  
“It’s not okay!” his voice strained and barely masking his distress. “It’s not okay! How can they think like that? How can they think I want to hear it?”  
“Pete it’s okay. I’m all right, it’s not real!”  
“It is real! I just read it; you don’t know what they want to do! And it’s not just you, it’s Bronx too!”

Pulling back, Ashlee’s eyes widened in horror only to be pulled back by Pete into a comforting embrace.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry I told you. I shouldn’t have said anything. You’re right; we’re all okay,” Pete nodded his relief, “but…” he sighed, “I just…”  
“There’s nothing could have prepared you for that.” She held him by his shoulders and looked deep into his eyes. “You’re very strong and a very good friend to go through that.”  
“But it was a waste of time,” Pete complained bitterly. “All that and we’re still no closer to finding him.”  
“It would have taken longer without you,” Ashlee pointed out.  
“So?” Pete muttered miserably.  
“So they’d still be wasting time if you hadn’t helped. Now, they are closer because they can move on.”

Pete stared at his wife with a faint smile emerging on his lips.

“How do you do it?”  
“Do what?”  
“Find the positive in everything?”  
“We’re strong for each other,” she replied softly, smoothing his hair. “Aren’t we always?”  
“You’re amazing,” his smile broadened before kissing her lightly on the lips.  
“For you, I can be anything.”

As the pair held each other in their mutually comforting embrace, the phone in Pete’s pocket vibrated. Pulling apart, the couple stared at each other briefly, hopefully.

“Maybe they’ve got a lead?” Ashlee suggested hopefully.  
Pete frowned as the vibration stopped abruptly. “It’s a message.”

Pete wanted to tear the phone from his pocket and read the message, but he was nervous. He may even have been more nervous about the possibility that it wasn’t from Patrick’s phone than the slimmer chance that it was. Gingerly removing the small device from his pocket, a sudden heat, born of dread, coursed through him as he saw that it was indeed from Patrick’s phone. Pressing a few keys, he opened the message and read it quickly.

 

 _If you have the police involved already, tell them it was a false alarm, tell them anything but get rid of them or Patrick suffers._  
_Tell no one, or Patrick suffers._  
_Get four million dollars in small, unmarked, used bills ready by the end of the week, or, guess what?_

 

“Patrick suffers,” Pete answered the question quietly but grimly. “I knew it! I knew someone had him.”

Turning the phone briefly in his hands, Pete tapped a few buttons and held it to his ear.

“Are you calling the police?” Ashlee asked, puzzled by the response.  
“No,” Pete clenched his jaw. “I’m calling the bastard that’s got him!”  
Eyes wide at the suggestion, Ashlee pulled at Pete’s arm. “You can’t do that!”

Twisting out of her grip, Pete grew increasingly incensed as instead of a ringing tone, he was directed straight through to voicemail.

“You bastard!” he screamed onto the recording as Ashlee tried desperately to pull the phone away. “You fucking bastard! If you hurt him, I’ll find you and I’ll…!” Spinning around, his eyes wild with anger, breathing heavily and deeply, Pete glared at his wife now holding the phone, clutched tightly in her hands; the call long since disconnected.  
“That’s not going to help!” she insisted.  
“It’s helping me!” Pete slapped a hand against his chest, still desperate to vent his anger.  
“It’s not even doing that!” Ashlee shook her head, her brow creased with concern as she tried to make him see sense.  
“Well, what the fuck am I supposed to do?” he yelled, his temper beginning to sink back into worry and concern.

Ashlee calmed slightly as Pete almost seemed to appear resigned to his lack of options.

“You do what they asked,” she replied quietly, handing the phone back to him. “We don’t have a choice, do we?”

Taking the phone from his wife’s outstretched hand, Pete nodded reluctantly. For Patrick’s safety, possibly even his life, he had to do what the message said.

 

*

I sat there with my head in my hands; appalled at myself for sending such a cruel message. Then, to make matters worse, having panicked when Pete’s call came in, I had declined the call, effectively switching it straight through to voicemail. Listening to the short tirade of anger and frustration, I had begun to cry long before even Pete’s few brief words had ended. I was destroying so many lives! This wasn’t me. This wasn’t what I was about. Yes, I’m a thief, but I’m not a kidnapper. What kind of kidnapper falls in love with her hostage? Could I really ransom him? I’d already lost my heart – along with my mind and self-respect. I couldn’t lose him too.


	6. Are you going to let me go?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pete calls Joe and Andy and Patrick finds himself in very different circumstances

It had taken me the best part of an hour to get everything set up and that was working as quickly as I could. I didn’t stop to allow myself to think about it. If I had I think I’d have come to the conclusion that I was crazy and maybe I was? He was still sleeping after I had finished and when I stood back to look, my heart sank. What had I stooped to? I wanted to tell myself that this was for the best, that if I were to ransom him, that this was what I needed to do. But there you see, I was already saying if. I was turning his phone in my hands distractedly, just sitting on the stairs, staring at him. I felt sure that after all the moving around, he would surely wake up soon, and I wanted to be there. I had switched his phone off a long time ago, not to conserve the battery, but I had seen an episode of CSI where they found someone by the GPS signal on the phone. It was one were a motel housekeeper found a dead body and a bag of drugs. I doubt it would have occurred to me if I hadn’t seen that. I didn’t know if Patrick had GPS, but I felt certain that the network provider would be able to do some sort of tracking and I didn’t want to be found.

I had asked… no, I had told Pete that I wanted four million dollars by the end of the week. That gave me three days to decide if I was actually going to ransom him or not. Who knows, maybe when he woke up he’d still love me? Maybe I wouldn’t need to?

Even as I thought about him waking, he started to stir, gently at first. I watched with a faint smile on my lips as he rolled slowly onto his back, groaning softly - I think I may have used too much chloroform, but I was panicking. Groaning louder, he rolled back over onto his stomach and I leapt to my feet, thinking he was going to throw up again. Moving his hand to his forehead, he frowned, most probably at the clinking noise that went with it. He seemed okay, just disorientated and perhaps he had a headache, but I could deal with that easily enough.

Standing and walking over from my position on the stairs, I guess he heard me as he looked up at me, bleary eyed and pale. Frowning up at me, he pushed himself up until he was sitting. It wasn’t an easy manoeuvre for him as he was still quite unsteady and uncoordinated, but he managed it eventually, and I was in no real hurry. Flopping back against the wall, he looked around, finally taking in his situation. 

I had moved him to the basement and blocked off the two tiny windows that led to ground level with thick pillows in an attempt to soundproof the room. There were brackets on the wall where an ex-boyfriend, who had been heavily into home improvement, had hung his tools. The tools were long gone, but the brackets remained and now, a long chain hung from one and was secured firmly around Patrick’s left wrist. I had also fastened a pair of handcuffs around his ankles to keep him from moving too quickly or suddenly. In complete contrast, for his comfort, I had brought down the mattress from the spare bed and a couple of blankets to keep him warm. It wasn’t a damp basement, but, with little to no natural light, it could get a little on the cold side.

“So,” he began, his voice gravelly.  
“There’s water by your mattress,” I told him, trying to be helpful, but he just glared at me as if I’d said something terrible. “Do you want me to get you some?” I offered.  
He stared at me as if I was crazy. “No!” he yelled. “I don’t!”  
“It’s just that you sound…”  
“Never mind how I sound!” he shouted, pulling hard on the chain around his wrist. “I guess there’s no pretence now is there?”  
“Pretence?”  
“I know who I am and who you are. How much?”  
“How much? What do you mean?”  
“Ransom! That’s what this is all about isn’t it? You broke into my house to kidnap me, what else could you possibly want?”  
“I didn’t!” I protested.  
“Didn’t what?”  
“I didn’t intend to kidnap you!” I tried to explain.  
“You’re saying I just fell into these chains?” he replied coldly.  
“No! It… It just sort of happened,” I wasn’t making much sense, but he was upsetting me. He didn’t love me at all. He didn’t even like me any more. He was breaking my heart.  
“And…” he took a deep breath. “Why did you make me… Why did you make me believe I was your boyfriend?”  
“I thought it would be easier,” I admitted.  
“Easier?” 

My heart shattered as he almost choked on the word. To think I was upset about him breaking my heart… I simply never considered it the other way around.

“Patrick… I…”  
“Oh, so not Martin now, then, eh?” he snapped bitterly. “You tried to control me! Wipe my own memories and replace them with whatever suited you! All to make it easier for you to keep me here! And I…” Patrick tapered off, looking down sadly before once more pulling furiously on the chain again. “So what is it? How much am I worth to you?”  
“Four million,” I sighed. 

He had every right to be angry with me and what could I say? I had no defence. Not a thing I could do or say could make amends for what I had done to him. I didn’t know which was worse lying to him about him being my boyfriend or locking him up in my basement and I didn’t want to find out - whatever the answer I think it would just about break me.

“Why did you do it?” he asked me quietly, as if all the fight had gone out of him.  
“Kidnap you?” I asked. “I already…”  
“Yeah, I know,” he interrupted. “Four million.”  
“No, I…” I couldn’t finish the sentence, when it came down to it, it was true. Originally, I had taken him with the intention of asking for a ransom. That I fell for him was an unexpected turn.   
“Why did you lie to me?”  
“I told you.”

It was a lie, pure and simple. I hadn’t done it because it was easier; I’d done it because I wished it were true. But how could I tell him that?

“So, let’s say it had worked to the end. I believed I was your boyfriend; you’d convinced me. We even…” Patrick looked down at that point; he couldn’t even look at me. He continued with a slight catch in his voice. “So, later on, the ransom’s paid and you let me go. But by then, my head is so messed up that I don’t even know who I am. But you don’t care do you?”  
“Yes! I care! It wouldn’t have happened like that.”  
“Oh, really?” Patrick scoffed. “You always planned to have my memory miraculously returned to me before you let me go, did you?”  
“No!” I cried, shaking my head in distress. “I wasn’t going to let you go!”

As soon as I said it, I knew it was a mistake. I had meant that if we had a life together, I wasn’t going to jeopardise that. And then I realised just how very wrong that sounded too. By the time I stopped thinking about myself and looked at him, I noticed that he was, again, very pale and very scared. I had terrified him, but in exactly the same way, I had frightened myself too.

“Are you…” he began tentatively. “Are you going to let me go?”

I was upset and confused. I had no idea what or even if I was thinking. I turned away and headed back for the stairs.

“Are you going to let me go?” he shouted after me; a sense of disbelief tainting his fearful question.

Turning briefly, I really wanted to say yes, I really did.

“I don’t know,” I replied quietly, before running from the basement.

 

*

 

“Pete, you’re not making any sense,” Detective Mitcham sighed. “You’re telling me it’s a false alarm, but you haven’t spoken to him?”  
“I…” Pete was kicking himself for not being better prepared as he made the phone call.   
“Did he send you a message?” Mitcham asked.  
“Yes! Yes, he did,” Pete lied. “He thought he’d sent it but he hadn’t; it explained everything.”  
“Really?” Mitcham asked, clearly unconvinced. “What did he say?”  
“He… Hang on, I’ll…”  
“Pete,” Mitcham’s voice sounded almost pitying. “You’ve had a ransom demand, haven’t you? Told you to keep the police out of it?”

Pete paused, shaken by the comment; was he that transparent?

“Pete, be honest with me,” Mitcham coaxed. “We deal with this all the time, you have to trust me.”  
“Look, I’ve already screwed up once,” Pete sighed thinking back to his outburst. “I don’t…”  
“Screwed up?” Mitcham asked with a restrained sigh.  
“They sent a message from Patrick’s phone. I… I lost my temper and called back.”  
“Go on,” Mitcham encouraged sympathetically.  
“It went through to voice mail, I just lost it completely. It wasn’t long, Ash got the phone off me, but the damage was done.”  
“You think there was damage?” Mitcham asked, hoping to suggest that it might not be as bad as Pete thought.  
“The message kept going on about how much Patrick would suffer. How could it not be bad?”  
“Have you heard anything since?”  
“No, not a word,” Pete sighed heavily.  
“In my experience, that’s good news. If they had done anything, you would definitely know about it by now.”  
“I can’t risk it,” Pete said hesitantly. “I can’t risk his life.”  
“Pete, I have to be honest with you; you’re more likely to be risking his life if you don’t keep us involved.”

 

*

 

“Andy?”  
“Yeah, man, what’s up? They told me it was urgent,” Andy frowned into the receiver.  
“Yeah…” Pete hesitated.  
“Are you okay?” Andy grew increasingly concerned. “You sound… tired?”  
Pete exhaled sharply and almost laughed at the suggestion. “I’m definitely tired!” he agreed. “But, no, there’s a reason.”  
“Is it Ash?” Andy chewed his lip at the thought of Pete doing something stupid and sabotaging his own marriage. “Is Bronx okay?”  
“Yeah…” Pete’s throat tightened. “Look you have to keep this to yourself, okay?”  
“Just tell me, Pete!” Andy was, by now, exceptionally worried.  
“Joe’s on his way here, but he’s local… pretty much. It’s up to you… I…”  
“Pete!”  
“Trick’s been kidnapped,” Pete suddenly blurted but was met with absolute silence. “Andy?”  
“I’ll be on the next flight,” Andy announced, his tone flat and monotone. “Tell me everything you know,” he paused to look at his watch. “It’ll be a late one, probably be early hours when I get there.”  
“That’s okay,” Pete answered. ‘I’ll get one of the guys to pick you up.”  
“Okay,” Andy sighed his bewilderment. “Thanks.”  
“Tell no one, Andy, not even your housemates. If this gets out, Patrick… well, they said he’d suffer.”  
“Not a word, Pete, I promise.”  
“You okay?” Pete asked. “I know I just dropped this on you.”  
“I… er…” Andy laughed nervously. “I have no idea how to answer that!”  
“I know,” Pete sighed dropping his head into his left hand. “I know.”

 

*

 

It was two hours later and I couldn’t bear it any longer. The look on his face when I ran from the basement was burned on my memory and as hard as I tried, I couldn’t shake it. Every now and then I wandered back to the basement door. Beyond it I could hear him, it was faint, but I could definitely hear it; he was pulling hard on the chain around his wrist, grunting with the effort and cursing when it held fast. It seemed to me that his hands would be raw and painful by now and all I wanted to do was to take care of him. I doubted that he’d want to see me just yet but it wasn’t really an option. I’d made something to eat; he hadn’t eaten since I’d brought him here and I knew he must be starving by now. I had no idea what he liked so I tried to stay safe with a simple pasta; all I could do was hope he would like it.

I opened the door at the top of the stairs and noticed him looking up at me. The sheer loathing on his face nearly took my breath away and I fought to hold back the stinging tears threatening to force their way out.

Gingerly, I made my way down the stairs, trying to balance the tray in one hand and hold the hand rail in the other. I was genuinely concerned that I was going to fall and I was getting the distinct feeling that he was willing me to.

“I brought you something to eat,” I said as I made it safely to the bottom of the steps.

Patrick glared at me, his jaw clenched and scowling with a combination of misery and anger. I immediately felt guilty, I’m certain it was what he wanted, but not enough to make me let him go, which is really what he wanted.

“So what?” he asked flatly. “You want a medal or something?”  
“I want you to eat,” I explained trying not to be baited by his attitude.  
“Do you now?” he replied without enthusiasm.  
“Patrick, why are you making this hard for me?” As soon as the words left my lips, I knew it was a mistake.  
“Hard for you?” he gasped. “Hard for you!”  
“Okay! I understand…”  
“No! “ he yelled. “No, you don’t! You don’t understand at all! You bring me here and mess with my memories? You wait until I’ve fallen for you and then you slip up! Quoting lyrics at me of all…”  
“Fallen for me?” I interrupted.

Patrick looked away; it seemed as though that comment was something he considered a mistake and he didn’t want to think about it any more.

“You fell for me?” I pressed.  
“You know I did!” he yelled at me. “You know! I told you and I don’t… We made love. I wouldn’t do that unless… unless I thought…” He cut himself off and shook his head vigorously. “No! I’m not doing this! I’m not going through this all over again! Let me go! Please, let me go! Or at least say that you will!”  
“If you’ve fallen for me, why do you want to go?” I knew how crazy that sounded, but I said it anyway.  
“You can’t seriously need the answer to that?” he replied quietly, probably worried that I might just actually be insane.  
“No, but… Can’t we… I mean, if I let you go, do you think we could date? If you’ve already…” I sighed. It wasn’t a genuine question; I knew what the real answer would be, but I wanted to see what he’d say.  
“You…” he paused, suddenly his whole demeanour changed. “Yeah,” he nodded and forced a smile. “That’s got to be better hasn’t it? This is no way to have a relationship.”  
“You want a relationship?” I asked pulling him further into the lie to see just how far he’d go.  
“Yeah! Of course!” he was convincing, a good actor. “It’s what I thought we had, I’d like to continue, but not like this.”  
“Now who’s the liar?” I asked evenly.

His eyes darkened and he glowered, realising that I had been leading him on.

“Well?” he snapped finally. “Do you blame me?”  
“No, but perhaps you’ll believe me when I say that I did what I thought seemed right at the time.”  
“This seemed right to you?” he laughed, shaking his head with nervous astonishment. “This is not, nor could it ever have been right at any time under any circumstances! Don’t you understand? You can’t possibly equate me saying anything to get out of here with you saying anything to get me here in the first place!”  
“Here,” I snapped, placing the tray next to him with a clatter of plates and cutlery as slammed it down a little too forcefully. His outburst had been absolutely justified but that didn’t mean I was happy to hear him say the words. “You need to eat.” I snapped coldly. “And I’ll warn you now, you better eat it, it may be the last you get for a while.”  
“Why?” Patrick asked nervously. “Are you going somewhere?”  
“No, I just think you need reminding who’s in charge here - exactly who kidnapped who. I won’t be spoken to like that and for every act of insolence from now on you’re going to be punished. Got it?”  
“Are you going to let me go?”

I didn’t answer, well not in words anyway. Almost without thinking about it - and I think I surprised myself as much as him - I swung an open palm sharply across his face.

His cheek stinging and flushed pink, Patrick stared up at me, numb with shock. I was fairly shocked myself, but I had long since realised that the only way to stop Patrick upsetting me was to make him afraid of me. I wasn’t going to get what I wanted… what I’d had for so brief a time had been irretrievably lost at the moment he regained his memory, and, as strange as it sounds, I was starting to resent him for it.

“Got it?” I repeated, on receiving no reply.  
“Yeah,” Patrick whispered barely audibly.

A small part of me somewhere deep inside felt wretched, but I could hear the uncertainty in his voice, the edge to his tone that told me that he was nervous and I found myself smiling with the unexpected adrenaline rush that came with it.

“Good,” I added simply as I turned and walked silently up the stairs. Sure, I was a bitch, but finally I was in charge of the situation and it felt surprisingly good.


	7. Do you know who I am?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything turns around and Bex is left confused and worried

“Hey, man,” Pete pulled Joe into a hug that he felt Pete would never let go.  
“How are you holding up?” Joe asked, patting his friend on the back and pulling away slightly.  
“Okay,” Pete lied, unable to meet Joe’s enquiring eyes and rubbing the side of his nose absently. 

Joe nodded his understanding. Pete always rubbed the side of his nose when he was lying, but he wanted you to know that he was. It was a sub-conscious cry for help while at the same time appearing strong – but Joe wasn’t fooled.

“Have you eaten?” 

Pete shrugged, guiding Joe through to the living room and closing the door behind him.

“Hey Ash,” Joe offered a vague wave in her direction. “Woah!” he cried in surprise as she unexpectedly pulled him into a tight hug of her own.

They both looked tired… no, they looked exhausted and it seemed to Joe that it wasn’t just Patrick who was in trouble.

“Look after him,” she whispered into Joe’s ear. “I’ll tell you everything later, try to get him to sleep.”

Returning the plea with a gentle squeeze, Joe released her from the embrace and watched with his own heart breaking as she forced a smile.

“Pete,” Joe began decisively. “You’re going to eat then you’re going to sleep.”  
“No… no,” he shook his head. “I’m fine, besides, they might call. I don’t wanna be asleep if they call. I’ll get a coffee. Do you want one?”  
“Please,” Joe nodded. “How long’s he been awake?”  
“Two days. Ever since he heard.”  
“He waited two days to call?” 

It was Joe’s instinctive reply and he regretted it immediately. He had no idea how he would have reacted in the same situation and maybe there was a good reason.

“I’m sorry,” he shook his head. “It just came out.”  
“They said not to tell anyone,” Ashlee sighed. “He took it literally at first, but then realized that you guys aren’t just anyone and you deserved to know.”  
“Yeah, I’m sorry, I… I guess I would have been the same.”  
“Can you get him to sleep?” Ashlee pleaded, nodding meaningfully.

Joe smiled, almost laughed; he really did have that reputation, didn’t he?

“I’ll… I’ll do what I can.”

*

By the time I reached the top of the stairs, my heart was pounding; there was no doubt in my mind that I had just enjoyed that. I pressed my back up against the door and breathed heavily. I felt almost breathless with exhilaration and I found myself laughing, before cutting myself off quickly as I thought Patrick could probably hear me. The poor guy had suffered enough.

Yes, don’t get me wrong, I hadn’t forgotten that I had fallen for him and what I felt for him hadn’t diminished, but I had to protect myself and how could I do that if every time he spoke to me he managed to cut me down? No, the only way to protect myself was to stop him upsetting me and the only way to do that was to make him afraid of me. Well, it’s true, I could have let him go, but I really wasn’t ready or even willing to do that right now. I wasn’t really sure when I would be either. There was a part of me that wondered if he could ever love me again. Unfortunately, I couldn’t let him out of the basement now that he remembered everything, so he’d have to fall for me again whilst being chained up. The chances of that seemed pretty slim, and I had to say and even if he did, would I believe him?

But there was more going on in my mind; part of the reason I was enjoying it so much. There was a man in my basement, a really hot guy, we had slept together and I knew he had feelings for me. But now, he was chained up and absolutely under my control. It was kinda sexy, if had been mere fantasy, but this was real. That part of me - the part that truly wanted to believe it - clung to the fantasy and thought about it as if he were a willing participant. It was wrong of me and it was very, very cruel. I was seriously mixed up. I wanted so much to go back to before, when we loved each other and he knew nothing but that. Another part of me wanted to make the best of a bad situation - ransom him and at least make some money. But there was that other part of me that didn’t want to let him go, the part of me that wanted to keep him locked up, just so I could be near him. 

If I’m honest, I thought that with enough time, I could make him love me again and we would come full circle and end up loving each other again. My practical side was the part that went ahead and contacted Pete. I had really messed this up on so many levels.

Down in the basement, I had expected to hear the plates being thrown across the room in a fit of rage and frustration but it was astonishingly quiet. Was he simply eating as I had demanded? Was he defiantly ignoring it? Had he just shoved it away and I didn’t hear? I had to know.

Opening the door a tiny crack, I peered down the stairs. It didn’t bother me if he looked up and saw me, if need be, to protect myself, I could again simply order him to eat. But as I looked down to where he was sitting, I swear my heart sank to the pit of my stomach before bouncing back into my throat, nearly choking me. Far from angry or defiant, Patrick was still sitting upright but huddled into a ball. His arms wrapped around his legs, his head on his knees, I watched with tears standing in my eyes, blurring my vision as I saw his shoulders shuddering. He was terrified, he was crying and I had driven him to it.

All my stupid thoughts of fantasy situations and him as a willing participant flew from my mind. I was left feeling ashamed and pathetic. Trying to protect myself, I hadn’t just hurt him, I had terrified him, I had taken his spirit as well as his freedom. I just wasn’t worth protecting, not by me, not by anyone! I loved this man. This sweet, kind, thoughtful and very sexy man. I’d had three wonderful days with him. Days that, by rights, I shouldn’t have had and didn’t deserve anyway. Look how I repaid him! Look what I did to the man I claimed to love! 

Wiping the tears from my eyes, I shoved the door open. His head jerked up immediately and I saw him quickly wipe his cheeks with the back of his hand. He was paler than I’d ever seen him, but worse than that, he was looking up at me, nervous and fearful. I couldn’t bear it. I simply couldn’t bear it any more.

“Patrick,” I choked out, suddenly realising that my throat was parched.  
“What now?” he asked quietly, each subdued word pulling hard on my heartstrings.

He seemed defeated. Each word that previously might have been spoken almost venomous with anger and frustration, now emerged deflated and downcast. I had crushed his spirit and caused him such distress that he simply didn’t deserve. 

I’ve said before now that I hated myself. Well I simply didn’t know the true meaning of the word until now. Right now, no matter what happened to me, I had to fix this. I had to make it right. I took a deep breath and swallowed hard.

“Patrick, I…I’m sorry,” I stammered. “I shouldn’t have done this to you, it was cruel, insensitive, and a whole load of words that don’t even begin to cover how much I’ve hurt you. I was confused and stupid and selfish.”

He was simply staring at me. I guess he didn’t know what to say. He probably thought I was crazy and I can’t blame him. I got the distant impression though that he wanted to ask what I was really saying. Moments later, he did just that.

“You mean…” he hesitated. “When they’ve paid the ransom, you’ll let me go?”  
“No!”

He dropped his head again and I realised that he hadn’t understood, but why would he? I’d given him no reason to think I would behave well towards him.

“I’m letting you go now! I don’t care about the ransom, I care about you!” I cried. I saw his head snap up as I pulled out the key that fitted the locks on both the cuffs around his ankles and the pair attaching him to the chain. 

As I began to race down the stairs towards him, I looked over and saw his face. His expression was initially one of bewilderment, then unexpected relief, then horror as I stumbled.

I don’t really remember how it happened, just that as I watched him, I missed my footing on the stairs. But even as I fell, the irony of what was happening was not lost on me. Tumbling erratically, I’m fairly certain that I screamed in pain and I heard him shout my name only moments before I crashed to the floor and blacked out.

 

*

 

It could only have been a few minutes later, or maybe it was longer, I really couldn’t say, but I knew I was in a bad way. I couldn’t move, well not without a hell of a lot of pain. I couldn’t help but let out a groan, we were really in trouble. I heard the rattle of the chain hitting the floor and the sound puzzled me for a few moments until I realised that when I dropped the key it must have landed within his reach. I was quietly relieved. I’d already decided that I didn’t care what happened to me, I already knew I was going to jail, but as we were, if Patrick hadn’t managed to get free, it seemed likely that we would both die down here. 

I heard him walk over and through bleary, barely open eyes, I saw his feet, still just covered with socks, no shoes. But even without shoes, I fully expected one of those feet to exact revenge and kick me hard. I had no way to stop him and I honestly doubt that I would have, even if I could. I waited for the inevitable pain but was instead surprised when he sat down on the floor next to me. Smoothing my hair and pushing a few strands from my vision, he spoke.

“Bex? Are you still awake?”

My only reply was a low groan.

“Where does it hurt?” he asked.

To be honest, the easier question was where didn’t it hurt, but more than anything, no amount of physical pain could have been worse than how I was feeling emotionally. I was a wreck and I… Oh, God! I just wanted him to go, to leave me alone with my utter misery. How could he be so kind to me after I’d hurt him so badly, mentally and physically. Now he was stroking my hair so soothingly, I wanted nothing more than to curl up in his arms on the couch and fall asleep together. But in many ways his response to me was hurting much more than a vicious kick would have done. As a revenge it was perfect, but the truth of the matter was that this was no revenge; he really cared and I didn’t deserve it. I started to cry, great shuddering breaths that I couldn’t hold back no matter how hard I tried.

“I’m sorry!” he cried suddenly moving his hands away. “Am I hurting you?”

That was it for me. I was no longer coherent. I heard him pull back and get to his feet; clearly he’d had enough and he’d established that I wasn’t going anywhere in a hurry. As my tears diminished and I found myself lying alone at the bottom of the stairs, I closed my eyes. Whether I opened them again… I wasn’t even thinking that far, for now, the blackness that took away the pain after I first fell, slipped over my eyes once more and I did nothing to stop it.

*

When I did finally wake, I was seriously disorientated. I was still very drowsy, but I was in bed and it wasn’t mine but it was comfortable. The dazzling whiteness all around me initially caused me to squint until I slowly got used to it. Then, of course I realised. The drip in my arm, the strapping on my leg and now, beyond the window, I could see ambulances pulling up to what I now realised was a hospital. But possibly the strangest thing of all; I could see no police and I wasn’t handcuffed to the bed as a precautionary measure. Just as I had begun to formulate all my questions, the door opened. I readied myself to speak to a doctor, not knowing what I’d say. I had no real idea how I had got here, what Patrick had said, if he was even here. Had he just called an ambulance and left? Or were the police on their way as I lay here. I was about to get all my answers in one go as Patrick walked in holding a Styrofoam cup of coffee. I gasped my surprise, but otherwise, I was speechless.

“You’re awake!” he smiled, placing the cup down on the bedside cabinet and pulling up a chair to sit beside me.

I could still only stare at him, what else could I do or say? I was so very confused.

“You… erm…” he began tentatively. “Do you know who I am?”

All my built up tension flooded out of me in a second as a burst of laughter at the sheer irony of what he had said. Still, I had taken quite a knock myself – thankfully, not to the head.

“Yes,” I finally gasped, nodding to confirm. “I know who you are, who I am, how we met and now…” I paused, even though I was resigned to what was going to happen, I hadn’t expected to be tricked like that. “And now I’ve confessed, you’re going to call the police, aren’t you?”  
“No,” he shook his head, his expression displaying such sincerity, I was borderline tearful again. “I think… maybe I remember it differently to you?”  
“What do you remember?” I frowned; I knew he had his memory back, I was certain, but now he was just confusing me.

Reaching for the cup again, he blew gently on the contents and tentatively tried to drink it before putting it back on the cabinet.

“You know, someone should really look into this,” he mused. “These things defy the laws of physics. Drinks stay unbearably hot for an impossible time and then in less than a second, they’re freezing cold.”  
“Patrick?” I prompted. “I know you got your memory back.”

He looked at me as if confused and by now, I was really freaking out.

“I was kidnapped,” he explained.  
“I know.”  
“Well, yes, I told you. I wasn’t sure what you’d remember, you had quite a fall.”

I just stared at him. He wasn’t making any sense to me at all. I had kidnapped him. I had contacted Pete for a ransom. Yes, I had planned to let him go, but he seemed to be suggesting that someone else had done all that. I hadn’t forgotten! I knew I hadn’t forgotten! What the hell was he talking about? I had to ask.

“Look… ah… what are you talking about?” I frowned, utterly bewildered by his statement.  
“The police are here,” he said it as if it would explain everything. “They want to talk to you when you wake up, but I wanted to see if you remembered everything properly.”

He spoke the last half of the sentence slowly, meaningfully and now I didn’t know what to think. Was he doing what it now seemed he was doing?

“I kidnapped you…” I began.  
“No!” he interrupted. “You helped me. Whoever took me kept me drugged, I don’t remember much about them. But something went wrong with their system and I woke enough to escape. I got away and you took me in, looked after me.”  
“They’re not going to believe that,” I shook my head, still confused. “Besides, I’m going to tell them the truth.”  
“That is the truth,” he insisted. “You hit your head, I’m getting a doctor.”  
“No… no! Okay, you say that’s the truth? Where were you? You say you got away from them, where were you?”  
“In a house, somewhere, I got on a bus to get away, I don’t remember exactly where,” he replied evenly. He’d obviously given it some thought, but there was something I felt certain he’d missed.  
“Did you use your own phone to call the ambulance?”  
“No,” he smiled, “I used your house phone.”

Then I remembered, his phone’s battery had run out, even if he’d found it, it would have been dead.

“You can’t lie to the police, Patrick, and… more to the point, why? After everything…”  
“I told you, I’m not lying!” taking another sip of the coffee, he frowned in distaste. “Freezing!”  
“Patrick, I don’t know why you’re doing this, but it has to stop. You can’t…”

He was next to me, his perfect blue-green eyes staring down at me as he smoothed and stroked my hair once more and I couldn’t say another word. Then, without the slightest warning, his lips met mine and I melted into him as he continued to caress my hair. I didn’t even hear the door open, but we both heard someone clearing his throat. Patrick pulled back sheepishly, an embarrassed smile fixed on his lips.

“You were supposed to find me when she woke,” the newcomer said dryly.  
“We’ve… I was so relieved she was okay… we’ve… we got close while she nursed me,” Patrick replied, trying to explain the delay.  
Nodding briefly, the man turned to me. “Agent Lawson, F.B.I. I have a few questions. Mr Stump will wait outside.”  
“F.B.I.?” I gasped as Patrick smiled comfortingly at me before heading outside.  
“Kidnapping’s a Federal offence, ma’am.”

I nodded weakly. A Federal Agent was about to ask me questions about what I’d done. Patrick had already lied to him and I wasn’t really sure why. At least, I think he did. What if he hadn’t what if he told him exactly what happened and then I made things worse for myself by lying? What if it was a test? What if he wanted to know if I’d just try to save myself? But he kissed me… with so much tenderness and even love. What if what he said wasn’t a lie? What if I was wrong? I was very, very confused. I could see the Agent staring at me; I had no idea what he was thinking or what he believed.

“Now, I want you to tell me everything you know about Mr Stump’s kidnapping.”

There was, what felt like, a terrible pause. What would I say?


	8. No Secrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pete, Andy and Joe meet Bex, but Pete can read Patrick like a book

“I… I don’t know what to say,” I stammered.  
“Let me be more specific,” Agent Lawson nodded. “Mr Stump has told me that whoever kidnapped him kept him unconscious much of the time, regularly drugging him. On one occasion he actually did wake he was violently sick and another, he managed to wake enough to slip out of the house. After finding him practically unconscious, you took him to your house and nursed him back to health. He says he didn’t even remember his own name at first.”

I nodded, completely unable to speak. Technically Patrick hadn’t lied, things were just out of sequence and of course I was both sets of people.

“He says he can’t remember anything except you and your house, but I imagine that had a lot to do with the drugs he was given. But there’s a chance that while he doesn’t remember anything now, that he did earlier on. Did he say anything to you? Anything at all that might give us some clue as to where he was or who had him?”

I could see Patrick peering through the glass of the door, his brow creased; I didn’t know what to think. Did he want me to confess? I wanted to, but now I was really confused about what had actually happened. Perhaps I was still dazed? I had just woken and my mind was reeling. 

“Miss Ives, do you have any information?”  
“I…”

It was all I managed before the door burst open once more and a woman in her mid-thirties strode in, the expression on her face one of severe annoyance.

“I told you I would let you know when you could question my patient!” she fumed. “How dare you come in here before I’ve had a chance to examine her!”  
“Doctor Samuels,” the F.B.I. Agent sighed his irritation. “This is a Federal crime I’m investigating, I think…”  
“I’m assuming this isn’t your first day on the job?” the doctor asked placing her hands on her hips, unimpressed by his attitude.  
“No, it’s not,” he growled angrily.  
“Then I’m sure you’ll be aware that anything my patient says will be inadmissible as evidence until I say she’s fit to answer your questions.”  
“Your patient isn’t under suspicion! I just want to know if she remembered anything Mr Stump said when he was recovering!”  
“In that case,” Doctor Samuels seemed momentarily flustered before regaining her composure, “it’s more important that you leave her to recover before questioning her. She’s much more likely to remember detail when she’s rested.”  
“I’ll be back in an hour,” Lawson grumbled, annoyed by the delay but understanding the logic behind it.  
“Make it two,” the doctor insisted. 

She and I both watched silently as Agent Lawson reluctantly retreated from the room. At least now I knew that it wasn’t some sort of trick to get me into even deeper trouble, but I still didn’t understand. Did I hit my head? Did I imagine that everything that had happened to Patrick was done by me? Had. He told me what had happened and somehow after falling I was remembering it as being me that kidnapped him not just helping him. There were some really strange gaps in Patrick’s story; I really needed to speak to him again.

“So,” Dr Samuels began brightly, “how are you feeling?”  
“Confused,” I answered honestly. “Did I hit my head?”

Samuels frowned at me as she reached for a thermometer and popped it in my mouth before picking up my chart.

“Strained ankle and knee, bruised hip, hairline fracture on the wrist. There’s no external damage to your head, but Patrick did say you hit the right side of your head, so some memory loss or confusion is possible. I’ll get a colleague of mine to check you over, okay?”

I nodded, the thermometer was still in my mouth and I didn’t want try talking and just end up making silly muffled sounds when a simple nod would do. Only seconds later, she removed it and nodded.

“Your temperature’s a little high, but you have been through a lot. We’ll be keeping you in for a few days, run a few tests and make sure you’re okay before we discharge you. Do you want us to call anyone?”  
“I’ll look after her,” Patrick piped up before I had a chance to say anything.  
“You?” the doctor raised an eyebrow. “But, I thought you only just met? I figured she’d want family.”

Patrick turned towards me, he seemed suddenly uncertain, his eyes questioning and pleading at the same time.

“It’s okay. Patrick is… We’ve been through a lot,” I smiled at what seemed like an inordinate amount of relief as his shoulders relaxed quite suddenly.  
“Okay,” she gave a non-commital shrug before continuing. “Are you in any pain?”  
“I wasn’t when I woke, but I’m kind of starting to feel it now… in my leg.”  
“I’ll ask a nurse to bring you something. Just try to rest and you’ll be fine in no time.”

Waving for Patrick to come closer, I waited until she had left the room and closed the door.

“What do you need from your place?” he asked with a smile.

He was starting to unnerve me now. Either this was real or he was a very good actor.

“Patrick,” I sighed with exasperation. “Tell me the truth.”  
“Why don’t you believe me?” he asked frowning, almost hurt by the accusation. “Why would you rather believe that you kidnapped me?”  
“It’s not a case of preferring to believe that! It’s what I remember!” I shook my head. “You have no idea how much I want your version to be true!”  
“Then believe it,” he caressed my cheek and ran a thumb across my forehead to smooth out my worry lines.  
“I found you unconscious?”  
“Pretty much,” he nodded.  
“And I didn’t call the police or ambulance? I just took you home like a stray puppy?” I shook my head; it seemed a ridiculous idea.  
“I told you I’d been kidnapped, and I’d escaped but they were looking for me. You helped me.”  
“Did I know who you were? Weren’t you afraid I’d do the same?”  
“I really don’t know if you knew who I was, I was pretty out of it you know.”  
“And all the time you were with me, I didn’t call an ambulance… why?”  
“Because I was afraid that whoever had me would pick up on the local calls and find me. I couldn’t bring all that to your door!”  
“But you didn’t hesitate to call an ambulance when it was me?”  
“How could I after what you did for me?” Patrick reasoned.

He had an answer for everything, it was making it hard not to believe him. A sudden commotion outside my room drew both our attentions and alongside the nurse, I saw three young men heading, trying hard not to rush, towards the door.

“These are my friends…” Patrick looked back at me urgently. “Even if you don’t believe it, please go with my version, they’re very protective.”  
“Especially Pete?” I asked remembering the voicemail message.

He stared at me, momentarily dumbstruck and apparently nervous. Had I said something that he hadn’t expected? In that split second, I again doubted everything he had told me.

“Promise me,” he whispered urgently as the door opened and the nurse and three men walked in.  
“I’m sorry,” she sighed with exasperation, “they wouldn’t wait.”  
“Trick,” the black haired one shouted, immediately rushing forward, almost knocking the nurse out of the way as she came to my side with painkillers. “Are you okay?”

And there it was. His voice. The tirade of abuse he had left for me on Patrick’s voicemail after I had asked for the ransom - it was unquestionably his voice. To my mind, there was simply no other way I could have recognised his voice and in that moment, I knew I had kidnapped him, that Patrick was lying to me. But why? Was he simply trying to mess with my memories the same way I had messed with his? Or was it deeper than that? Did he… Despite everything I’d done, did he actually love me?

 

*

 

As the three men huddled and fussed around Patrick, I had time to get my breath back and clear my mind of my concerns. Patrick was adamant that I should believe him; I didn’t but I thought that I at least needed to find out what his motives where. I was so deep in thought that I didn’t notice Pete coming towards me. It was only when he leaned over me for a hug that I even realised he was there. As he pulled me towards him, I yelped with a combination of pain and surprise.

“Pete!” Patrick cried in alarm at my reaction.  
“Sorry! I… I’m sorry!” Pete stammered, pulling back and staring at me wide-eyed as if to check how I looked. “I just wanted to thank you,” he explained. “Sorry, I got carried away.”  
“It’s okay,” I gasped, the pain subsiding rapidly. “It must have been really hard for you?”  
“Yeah… Well, all of us. It was so brave of you to help him! Did you know who he was?”  
“I… I don’t really remember…”  
“She hit her head,” Patrick interrupted suddenly. “I was hiding in her basement, but she was coming to see me and she fell down the stairs.”  
“So, why didn’t either of you contact us?” Pete frowned, his eyebrows pushed together as his brow crinkled.  
“You’re on my phone as a speed dial, Pete, I don’t actually remember your number, and my kidnapper had my phone.”

I couldn’t help but frown, he phrased things so carefully so as to not lie, but he was, at the very least, economical with the truth. I noticed Pete nodding and somehow at the same time shaking his head in dismay.

“Patrick, you should know my number by now,” he tapped his forehead. “It should be burned into your brain, don’t you know how important I am to you?” he added with a broad lop-sided grin.  
“Pete,” Joe tutted playfully, “You think you’re the most important thing in everybody’s life!”  
“I don’t make the rules, Joe, I just live by them,” nodding almost gravely, Pete replied in a solemn tone.  
“And that’s a rule is it? You’re the most important thing?”  
Pete shrugged and offered a wide-eyed look of innocence followed by a mischievous grin. “Maybe not always the most important, but top five, yeah.”  
“Okay, okay!” Patrick called time on the conversation. “Bex is tired and we need to get out and let her rest.”  
“But, I don’t know who everyone is,” I objected, trying to drag this out as long as I could. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?”

I could see that Patrick looked a little flustered; perhaps he was worried about tiring me, but I felt it was more that he was worrying about what I’d say. I knew he didn’t want me to say what I knew, but I just wished he’d be honest with me. As the guys gathered around the bed, I could see in their eyes how tired they were, how much of a toll this had taken on them all. Introductions were short and I really got the impression that Patrick was trying hard to get them away from me as fast as apossible. As they finally turned to leave, the words just left my lips as if someone other than me was in charge.

“Did you get the ransom together?” I asked Pete, to Patrick’s obvious annoyance.  
“Yeah,” he nodded, turning back. “But the call to say Trick was okay came before the call from the kidnappers to say how to deliver the ransom.”  
“You… got a call from them?” I stammered; that was completely unexpected.  
“Yeah… Well, no,” he shook his head. “It was a text message, like the others, but it was after we’d heard Trick was okay and coming here with you. They were just trying to speed things along I guess. Hoping they could get the money before we found out he was okay.”

This was really freaking me out! I was unconscious and either on my way to the hospital or already here when ‘the kidnappers’ sent a message on Patrick’s phone, which I knew was dead. How was that even possible? Pete beamed a broad smile at me, oblivious to my confusion.

“Thank you. You know? For taking care of him. Some people would have just left him on the street and they might have got him again.”  
“Out!” Patrick insisted, driving them towards the door like cattle.   
“Patrick?” I called out quietly.  
“I’ll be back in two minutes, I promise.”

I nodded lightly. Now I wasn’t sure what to believe.

*

“So, what do you think?” Patrick asked, a slight smile gracing his hopeful expression.  
“It’s so good to see you’re okay!” Andy replied.  
“Yeah, Trick, you have no idea how worried we were about you. Pete was even helping the police before the F.B.I. got involved,” Joe continued.  
“No… no, I don’t mean that,” Patrick shook his head. “I mean, Bex. What do you think?”  
“Do you mean to tell me that out of being kidnapped you managed to find yourself a girlfriend?” Pete raised his eyebrows in surprise.  
“Uh… yeah, I guess,” Patrick rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment. “But what do you think?”  
“She seems great,” Andy replied, “I mean, she helped you, even though it could have been dangerous for her. That’s huge.”  
“She didn’t know who you are, in fact,” Pete mused, “I still don’t think she really does.”  
“Does she like you?” Joe asked.  
“Uh… well, we… I mean, I think so, yeah,” Patrick replied awkwardly.  
“You didn’t!” Able to read his best friend like a book, Pete was now standing wide-eyed and agape. “I can’t believe you!”  
“What?” Joe asked, reacting more to Pete than to Patrick. “You mean they…? Patrick!” 

Both Joe and Andy were, by now, grinning from ear to ear, whilst Pete just appeared stunned.

“So, let me see if I’ve got this right,” he summarised. “You get kidnapped, held to ransom, escape, found by, I have to say, a very pretty girl who agrees to help you and then you get some? You dog!”  
“It wasn’t like that,” Patrick sounded uncomfortable with the description. “I… like her.”  
“You more than like her, Trick,” Pete replied, knowingly.  
“Yeah, I… more than like her,” he admitted finally.  
“Good,” Pete nodded, a smile forming on his tired face. “Well, now, seeing as you’re obviously okay and otherwise occupied, the three of us, who, incidentally have flown back and forth all over the US and are dog tired are going to find a hotel and get some well earned rest.”  
“I’m in the Marriot two blocks down,” Patrick nodded. “I called them about an hour ago.”  
“Double room?” asked Pete, earning a glare for the insinuation.  
“You got the number?” Andy asked. “We can check and see if they have any more rooms available.”  
“Yeah,” Patrick’s hand went to his pocket and he froze momentarily. “Oh… er… no, I used a payphone, I didn’t write it down.”  
“No worries,” Andy shrugged, “we’ll get it.”  
“Patrick?” Pete began, as Andy and Joe left the room insearch of a payphone, his head cocked to one side.  
“Yeah?” Patrick replied, suddenly uncomfortable and awkward.  
“Do you remember anything about who kidnapped you?” Pete asked.

Patrick hesitated; Pete would know if he was lying. What to say? What to say?

“Whoever it was surprised me at the top of my stairs, I fell back downstairs, hit my head and I didn’t remember much more. I have a vague memory of being taken from the house, but that’s all.”  
“Have the F.B.I. interviewed you?”   
“Yeah,” Patrick frowned. “Is there anything on your mind, Pete?”  
“Just want to see them behind bars, that’s all,” he shrugged to try to suggest that all was well. “I guess you’ll be wanting my number again, then?”  
“Your number?” Patrick frowned, confused.  
“Your cell phone?” Pete replied looking briefly at Patrick’s pocket. “You don’t have it any more, do you?”  
“Er… no, that’s right,” Patrick agreed nervously.  
“This couldn’t have come at a better time for you, could it?” Pete pressed.  
“What?” Patrick frowned deeply at the words.  
“Well, it can’t hurt your solo album any, can it?” he shrugged lightly. “If this is a publicity stunt, Trick, I don’t appreciate it.”  
“I was kidnapped!” Patrick replied angrily. “How dare you suggest that…!”

Pete stepped forward, pushing his hand into Patrick’s pocket and pulling out the cell phone, now with a message to indicate a low battery warning.

“Well, if this isn’t a publicity stunt and you say it was genuine, then… oh, no, Trick, tell me you…”

Patrick snatched the phone back, pushing it deep into his pocket once more.

“I’m not telling you anything! Like I said, I was kidnapped but Bex helped me.”  
“Bex kidnapped you, didn’t she?” Pete asked sternly. “Didn’t she!”  
“Yes!” Patrick snapped back equally angry. “But it’s not what you think…”  
“I don’t even know what I think, Trick, so I’m damn sure you don’t know!”  
“Look…” Patrick ran a nervous hand across his forehead. “I like her, Pete, I do, I really do. Promise me you won’t speak to the F.B.I., please!”

Pete began to pace the room, shaking his head and muttering, before turning back to his friend.

“This isn’t right, Patrick and you know it! I can’t let you do this!”  
“No, Pete, please! Please give me a chance, give Bex a chance. Pete, please! Don’t speak to the F.B.I. or the guys, Pete, I’m begging you.”  
“Okay,” Pete frowned with a mixture of anger and frustration. “But this isn’t over, Trick.”

Andy sensed the tension in the room as he re-entered, but said nothing. He knew what Pete had gone through trying to help the police to find Patrick, perhaps he had been venting?

“They got rooms, Pete,” he smiled. “Are you coming?”  
“Yeah,” Pete returned darkly. “I’ll see you later, Patrick.”  
“Yeah,” Patrick nodded. “I’ll call you.”

Pete raised his eyebrows at the reply.

“At the Marriot, yeah?” Patrick added.  
“Yeah,” Andy replied, oblivious to Patrick’s admission. “We’re in rooms 1041, 43 and 45.”  
“Okay,” Patrick replied, subdued by Pete’s continued glaring. “I’ll see you later.”


	9. Pete Means Well

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Has Pete made a grave mistake?

“Hello, Pete,” Doctor Steadman, Pete’s therapist pitched his tone somewhere between concerned and upbeat. It was a curious mixture, but he had learned from experience that this was the best way to encourage a response from the somewhat complex musician. Anything else was likely to make him close up and regret calling. “Do you want an appointment?”  
“I can’t, I’m in L.A., but I do need your advice, urgently.”   
“Okay, Pete, I’m free now, are you alone? Are you likely to be disturbed?”  
“No,” Pete replied quietly. “I’m in a hotel room, I’ve told the guys I’ll be sleeping.”  
“Good, that’s good, Pete, now, what’s troubling you? Is it following on from our last discussion?”  
“Ah… No, no it’s nothing to do with that. Patrick was kidnapped.”  
“Yes, I heard in the news. He’s back with you now though isn’t he? He was found by a woman who took him in to recover?” the doctor asked gently.  
“Yes, he’s fine… Well, no, no he’s not fine at all! That’s why I’m calling. I’ve just found out…” Pete paused, suddenly unwilling to discuss the problem. “There is still patient confidentiality, isn’t there? Even if I’m not talking about me?”  
“You’re talking about Patrick?”  
“Yeah, but not if it’s not confidential,” Pete clarified.  
“Well, he’s not my patient…”  
“I need advice about what to do, Giles, I’m really worried about him,” Pete pleaded.

Doctor Steadman raised his eyebrows. Despite their long established relationship and the frequently informal nature of their sessions, Pete rarely called Doctor Steadman by his first name, but when he did, Steadman had noted, it frequently pointed to the young man being particularly stressed or unhappy.

“Provided that no laws have been broken and he’s not about to hurt himself or others, I’m happy to keep this conversation between us,” Steadman confirmed. “Does that reassure you, Pete?”  
“No, not really,” Pete replied miserably. “I don’t know if there are any laws broken… well, no, that’s not true, I do, but I…” Pete sighed heavily. “I don’t know about Patrick.”  
“Pete,” Steadman began sympathetically. “You’re obviously very distressed. Tell me what’s happened and we’ll work something out.”  
“Okay,” Pete nodded despite being on the phone. “Patrick was kidnapped, that much you know. What you don’t know is that the woman who claimed to find him was the one who kidnapped him.”  
“Are you absolutely certain about that, Pete?”  
“Of course I’m certain!” the pitch of Pete’s voice raised a tone as he became increasingly distressed at the thought of it. “He slipped up and I called him on it.”  
“How did he slip?”  
“Why?” Pete frowned.  
“Go with me on this, Pete, it’s important. How did he slip?”  
“He said he didn’t call me after he escaped as they still had his phone…”  
“Did he say ‘they’ when he referred to his kidnapper?” Steadman interrupted.  
Pete paused trying hard to remember. “I don’t think so, I think he was pretty careful what he said and how he said it.”  
“Okay, go on.”  
“But then, I realised he still had it. At first, I thought it was a publicity stunt, but when I called him on it, he admitted that she’d done it. He likes her… Giles, he wants to have a relationship with this woman and he wants me to stand back and let him!”  
“And you don’t want this because…?” Steadman left the question hanging.  
“You’re not serious? You can’t be serious! She kidnapped him! He thinks he’s fallen for her. This isn’t like him, it’s unbelievably wrong on so many levels! Please tell me you’re not serious,” Pete’s voice cracked as he spoke the last few words.  
“Pete, I just wanted to provoke your reaction, that’s all. No, I agree, something is amiss here and I suspect I know what it is. But first, tell me what happened when they were together.”  
“I don’t have all the details,” Pete sighed, wishing he’d held his temper and found out more. “He went missing about five days ago, from his house. I don’t know how it happened but I do know they slept together. He thinks he loves her and he’s asked me to keep this to myself, but I can’t! This isn’t right. It’s not, is it?”  
“Pete,” Steadman sighed. “I’d need to see him to confirm, obviously, but… Have you ever hear of a condition called Stockholm Syndrome?”

Pete suddenly went quiet at the name. He had heard of it, and he had to admit, it made sense, but what did it mean?

“Pete?” Steadman pressed.  
“Yeah,” Pete replied, suddenly realising his mouth had dried. “Yeah, I’m still here and…” he sighed again after a long pause. “I’ve heard of it. Where the victim grows attached to the kidnapper.”  
“Basically, yes.”  
“But it was only five days!” Pete objected.  
“It’s not the length of time, it’s the emotional connection. I take it from the way you describe it that Patrick’s not the type to sleep with just anyone under any circumstances.”  
“N… no,” Pete drew a palm across his forehead, blindsided by the initial diagnosis. “No, I can’t imagine what happened for him to do that with a kidnapper… unless she threatened him.”  
“Well, it’s possible, but unlikely to provoke such a strong positive connection. Something obviously happened and we have to find out what, but whatever it was, it’s left him with such a strong connection to her that it seems to have triggered Stockholm Syndrome. As it stands now, he’ll defend her, protect her, even lie for her.”  
“Have I done the right thing?” Pete asked bleakly. “Will he get into trouble? He’s withheld evidence from the F.B.I. I just didn’t know what to do. I’m really worried about him.”  
“Don’t worry, Pete, you did exactly the right thing,” Steadman comforted him. “He won’t get into trouble, it’s a recognised reaction. We need to find out more about what happened to him, but… there is a potential problem, Pete.”  
“What?” Pete asked with trepidation.  
“We need to get him away from her; isolate him and begin treatment.”  
“What kind of treatment?” Pete asked quietly. Nervously.  
“Nothing terrible, don’t worry. The treatment is similar to that for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. He’ll probably be having difficulty sleeping, concentrating. He might be confused…”  
“I’ll say he’s confused!” Pete snapped. “That bitch kidnapped him! How can he… I just don’t understand!”  
“Pete!” Steadman cut in abruptly. “We will resolve this, but there’s a problem, well, a potential problem that you need to understand.”  
“What?” The statement unnerved Pete; what could possibly be worse than what was happening?   
“He won’t willingly submit to treatment. We’ll need to forcibly detain him.”  
“You mean have him committed?” Pete whispered, now seeing where the doctor was heading.  
“Yes,” Steadman replied gravely. “We can apply through the courts, but he’ll almost certainly find out about it, certainly the media will. This needs to be handled quietly, tactfully, by a friend.”  
“You’re telling me this is on me? I have to have him committed?” Pete’s voice was strained. The idea was unthinkable, but there were no acceptable alternatives.  
“Your signature and statement will make it quick and painless. But, he will know it was you.”  
“It won’t be painless, Giles,” Pete closed his eyes in his misery. “He’ll never speak to me again.”  
“What do you want to do?” Steadman asked kindly.  
“You can arrange it from there?” Pete asked, stunned and miserable.  
“Is he still at the hospital?”  
“Yeah, he won’t leave her side.”  
“Give me the hospital details and I’ll arrange everything. When it’s arranged, I’ll call you back to give you the details on who to go to to complete the forms.”  
“How long?” Pete whispered.  
“It’ll all be over within the hour.”  
“Can I speak to him before…?”  
“No, you’ll give something away. It’ll be unintentional, but he’ll know something’s wrong.”  
“But the last time I spoke to him we yelled at each other!”  
“Pete, I know this is hard, but you’ll be a much truer friend to him if you help him get through this.”  
“He’ll never forgive me,” Pete replied wretchedly.  
“Perhaps… but, maybe he will. What do you want to do?”

Pete paused; it was an impossible situation. Whichever way it went, he would lose his friend.

“I’m so sorry, Trick,” he sighed hopelessly before taking control of the shake in his voice. “Make the arrangements,” Pete whispered. 

*

“Hey,” Patrick smiled at me as he returned to my room. “How’re you feeling?”  
“Patrick, why won’t you…”  
“Don’t say it!”

I could see his shoulders sag as he said the words, but I couldn’t do this, I had to clear the air. I had to tell him I knew and, more than that, I had to ask him why he was being so nice to me.

“I have to,” I replied as calmly as I could. “You want a relationship? Do you want it based on lies? I have to know why you’re doing this.”

Patrick sighed his resignation and nodded as he perched on the side of my bed.

“Okay,” he took a deep breath and smiled again. “Yes, I know what you did and I think I’ve pretty much pieced together enough to know why you did it too.”  
“Then why are you being so kind to me? You should hate me!” I suddenly blurted. I think it was more to make it clear that I understood how wrong I’d been than for any other reason.  
“Hey! You’ve asked me to explain, now, let me. Okay?”  
“I’m sorry,” I nodded, the beginnings of tears welling in my eyes.  
“Come on, don’t get upset, everything’s going to be fine, I promise. Okay, so I’ll admit that I know you kidnapped me… Sort of.”  
“Patrick, I took you from your home, drugged you, kept you locked in my basement…”  
“Yeah, and you looked after me and nursed me back to health.”  
“But it was my fault you were ill!”   
“Bex, will you let me explain? Please?”  
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “Go on.”  
“I fell for you, long before I knew what you’d done, but I can’t switch my emotions on and off that easily. You’ve got to understand, I fell hard, Bex and I had good reason to. You have qualities I haven’t seen in any woman I’ve met for a long time.”  
“Yeah, breaking and entering, not to mention…”  
“Rebecca!” Patrick warned me playfully. “The thing is, if we’d met in a bar or something, we’d be dating by now and, yes, I know our meeting was a little unorthodox…” Patrick raised a finger to stem the objection on my lips. “But the end result is the same. If you can put it behind you, then so can I.”  
“How do you know I’m not going to agree to forget it just to get me off being arrested?” I asked nervously.  
“Because you were going to let me go, if you hadn’t fallen down those stairs we wouldn’t be here, but I’d still be with you.”  
“Really?” the tears were spilling from my eyes now.  
“Yeah,” he smiled, brushing the salty tears from my cheeks. “I wouldn’t have left when you removed the cuffs.”  
“How did you cover it up so well? I was really starting to believe I’d imagined it, until Pete arrived.”  
Patrick gave a small chuckle. “I found my phone on your coffee table when I went to call an ambulance, but it was dead. Then I found your house phone and call 911. I got an ambulance for you and the police, who I knew would contact the guys. While I was waiting, I actually found my suitcase with my charger in it. That’s when I heard the message from Pete on the voicemail. I got enough power to send a message, supposedly from the kidnappers asking for delivery of the ransom, which I knew wouldn’t happen because they knew I was okay. But it gave you an alibi. How could you possibly have sent a message asking for ransom when you were unconscious and injured? In the ambulance, I had plenty of time to get my story straight, but I needed to make sure you didn’t say anything to contradict me. One of the reasons I barely left your room.”  
“What was the other reason?” I asked, believing I knew, but hardly daring to think it.  
“Because I just didn’t want to be away from you. Look, kidnapping is serious. It’s one of those things where, even if I don’t press charges, the police will. But they can’t prove anything if we both deny it. Say you’ll deny it, please. I love you Bex. I knew from the moment I woke up, possibly before I even slipped on my stairs. Promise me you’ll deny it. He’ll be back soon and I need to know you’ll tell him only that you rescued me.”  
“He’s back now,” I sighed. “The F.B.I. Agent, he’s outside.”  
“Remember, Bex, whatever happens, I love you and I need to be with you. Please say you’ll deny it.”  
“Pete’s here too,” I frowned noticing a pale and drawn looking Pete standing next to Agent Lawson.  
“Pete?”

Patrick turned to look at the window to the room beyond which he could see his friend standing next to the F.B.I. Agent. Patrick’s face was a mask of hurt and betrayal as he stared shocked and at first puzzled by his friend’s presence. I was willing to put money on Pete having guessed what had happened, they seemed pretty close, but nothing prepared either of us for what happened next.

“He promised!” Patrick fumed, trying hard not to show his reaction to the F.B.I. Agent. “Damn it! He lied to me! He’s supposed to be my…”

The door burst open, both of us turning, expecting to see the police coming for me, but instead, a doctor, a nurse and two surly looking orderlies stood just inside the door.

“Patrick Stump?” the doctor asked to our surprise.  
“Yes?” he replied, at first merely expecting to be asked to leave the room.   
“Under section fifty-one-fifty of the Welfare and Institutions Code, I’ve been authorised to confine you on the grounds that your mental health presents a danger to yourself and others.”

Signalling to the orderlies to move forward, the doctor, having finished his prepared and shocking speech, watched with almost stony indifference as the two men headed towards Patrick.

“No!” I screamed, simply unable to believe what was happening. “Patrick!”

I turned to see the pained expression on Pete’s face, as Patrick momentarily froze, still staring at his best friend in utter shock and bewilderment. The room was so small they were on him in seconds; seizing his upper arms so tightly, they must have bruised him.

“What are you doing?” he cried, panicked by what was happening and struggling in their grip. “Let me go!”  
“I would advise you to go easily, Mr Stump, we will restrain you if necessary,” the doctor insisted quietly but firmly.

Patrick’s eyes were wide and terrified as the orderlies tried to drag him towards the door. It was only now that I realised that I was out of the bed, balanced precariously on my injured leg, fighting the pain and one of the orderlies.

“What is this? What are you doing? Pete!” I heard Patrick cry as I was almost swept to the side before the nurse dragged me away.  
“Let him go!” I was crying. Through my tears I could barely see, but through the blurry veil of tears I did catch a glimpse of Pete, himself struggling in Agent Lawson’s grip as he tried to get to Patrick but was held back. Crying too, he seemed distraught, and repeating over and over that he was sorry.

“You did this!” I screamed at him as Patrick was dragged towards the door. “He’s your best friend! How could you?”

My words almost seemed to switch a light on in Patrick’s mind and he looked at Pete with horror.

“What did you do?’ he yelled, his struggles growing increasingly frantic. “Pete! What did you do?” 

Almost choking on the words, Patrick stopped struggling abruptly as his right arm was forced up his back with so much force as to be almost to the point of dislocation.

“You’re hurting him!” I heard Pete cry. “I never wanted this! Please, Patrick, please forgive me!”

Patrick grimaced at the sting of the needle as it pierced his arm. Looking to his right, he saw the doctor; it was obvious from his expression that this was not something he enjoyed, but a necessary task that he had to endure. But it did nothing to reassure Patrick. 

It was a matter of moments before Patrick started to feel woozy and weak. Pulled easily to a wheelchair, Patrick slumped in it, held upright only by the length of strapping pulled tight across his chest and arms. Two more straps were then fastened around his wrists, but he was too weak to fight it.

The room was in almost silence now, but for the sound of Pete’s relentless sobbing audible even behind the glass. Turning glazed, heavy-lidded eyes to me, Patrick mumbled the words I love you. It was heartbreaking. This was all my fault. Patrick had been committed by his best friend. Two lives and probably a wonderful friendship ruined, all because of me. The nurse stayed after everyone had gone, but I just wanted to be left alone. I didn’t deserve to be comforted or cared for. I was inconsolable anyway.


	10. What's Best For Patrick?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pete and Bee have their own ideas about what is best for Patrick but they differ wildly

“You did what?” Andy yelled.

It was fair to say that Andy didn’t hold true to the hothead stereotype for redheads. He was generally a fairly placid, easy-going kind of guy with a strong sense of fairness and reasonability. It took a lot of effort to make Andy lose his temper and Pete had just about provided the impetus he needed. Andy’s reaction was anger, even violence, but Pete took it. He took everything Andy threw at him, including the strong right hook, without question or comment. It was only when Andy split Pete’s lip that Joe felt the need to intervene on the bassist’s behalf.

“Andy! Stop!” Joe yelled, not even sure if his words were cutting through the red mist that seemed to have descended over the drummer’s eyes. Resorting instead to physically grabbing him and pulling him back, Joe screamed in frustration as Andy pulled out of his grasp. Resuming his attack, Andy didn’t even seem to notice that Pete did nothing to protect himself. “Stop it!” Joe yelled again finally being heard.  
“You heard him!” Andy snapped in return, justifying his reaction. “You know what he did! How can you…?”  
“This isn’t helping!” Joe yelled.

Pete grimaced silently to himself. Ashlee had said the exact same thing to him when he had left the abuse-ridden message on Patrick’s phone for his kidnappers, or as it had turned out, Patrick’s would-be girlfriend, Rebecca. He had seriously messed up then and, in all honesty, he knew he had again. He had meant well, he really had. He was worried and perhaps couldn’t see past his own prejudices, but even now, he refused to accept the possibility that he was wrong and struggled to understand why they didn’t or couldn’t see it from his perspective. She had taken him by force, held him to ransom - how could he even like her if he wasn’t ill in some way? It simply wasn’t possible. Patrick was his best friend and he had to help him get past this, even it meant that he never spoke to him again. 

“Why did you just go ahead and do it? Why didn’t you talk to us?” Andy fumed, glaring with cold, angry eyes.  
“I spoke to my therapist, who, you’ll be amazed to learn, knows a lot about these things.” Pete replied dryly; not helping himself in the slightest. “If I ever want an opinion on pointy sticks, then I’ll come to you.”

Launching himself forward again, Andy bowled into the bassist, knocking him flat and resuming his attempts to pummel him. It was easy. Once again, Pete did nothing at all to protect himself; allowing Andy to rain blow after blow on him. Grunting in frustration, Joe pulled Andy backwards by his shirt collar and even a handful of hair.

“Andy, stop! Can’t you see what he’s doing?” Joe yelled at the incensed drummer. “He’s trying to provoke you! He wants you to beat him into the middle of next week!”  
“Good! So do I! We both get what we want!” Andy yelled back, barely even looking up as he leaned forward, trying to resume his attack. 

Finally succeeding in pulling Andy backwards and off balance, Joe threw him to the floor and stared pitifully at Pete. Lying on his back, his face bloodied and bruised, Pete merely stared vacantly at the ceiling.

“We have to fix this, not fight each other,” Joe finally stated, as Andy finally seemed to calm himself enough for Joe to believe the one-sided brawl was over. “We have to find out what happened, try to understand it and I mean really try to understand, not just make assumptions. Then, we have to put it right. Got it?” Waiting a few moments, Joe repeated himself, only much louder. “Got it?”

“Yeah,” Andy replied almost breathless from his exertions.

Pete merely offered a vague nod; it seemed to be the most response he was likely to give at the moment.

*

“Patrick,” the doctor opened his notebook. “Tell me what you’re thinking at this exact moment.”

Staring in reply for a brief moment, Patrick was the very picture of resentment. Publicly humiliated with accusations of mental illness and being a danger to himself and others, Patrick was hardly feeling cooperative. That was bad enough, but he knew that the reason for it all was his feelings for Rebecca. He felt betrayed and was hurting deeply. He was finding it hard enough to believe what was happening to him, but to know that his committal was authorised by Pete was a real blow to him. Thinking back to the moment he was taken, he remembered that Pete was there, certainly, but he had displayed a sense that he had regretted every moment. Pete had begged his forgiveness, amidst wrenching sobs. It was enough to melt the stoniest of hearts, but Patrick wasn’t feeling forgiving, he was hurt, abandoned, miserable and alone.

“Patrick?” the doctor asked again. “Did you hear me?”

Patrick sighed tiredly. What to say? How to answer and to try to stay ahead of the doctor’s reasoning? His mental health was just fine but he felt no inclination to dance to their tune to prove it.

“White really isn’t my colour,” he sighed glancing at the plain white gown and robe he had been forced to dress in. “I’m really too pale for this. Apparently, I suit blue.”  
“Are you trying to sound crazy, Patrick? No one’s saying that, you know.”  
“You asked me what I was thinking, that’s what I was thinking,” Patrick explained in a dry flat tone.  
“I see.”  
“Don’t ‘I see’ me!” Patrick suddenly yelled. “You don’t ‘see’ at all! If you did, I wouldn’t be here!”  
“Why do you say that, Patrick?”  
“Don’t,” Patrick sighed, all his anger diminishing in a moment, he shook his head sadly. “Just don’t. I’m here because there’s been a gross misunderstanding. I know Pete thinks he means well, but if you knew him like I do you’d know that sometimes he screws things up a lot… and this is one of those times. You know you’re taking the word of a man who’s tried to kill himself at least twice?” A pang of guilt hit him hard as he said the words; he knew it was unkind and harsh, but there was another part of him that simply didn’t care. Pete had betrayed him, why shouldn’t he get his own back? But it wasn’t spite that was driving him, it was pain.  
“Do you think he’s jealous?” the doctor pressed.  
“Hardly! He’s got a beautiful wife and son.”  
“Then what do you think it is?”  
“He thinks Rebecca kidnapped me and he won’t let it go.”  
“You’re saying she didn’t?” the doctor asked with surprise.  
“Yeah, that’s exactly what I’m saying,” Patrick snapped in return, turning his eyes to his left to stare out of the window.  
“I should tell you that he’s given me a very detailed account of a conversation the two of you had when you admitted to him that she kidnapped you.”  
“He’s lying,” Patrick replied, still looking away, unable to make eye contact.  
“I see.”  
“There you go with your ‘I see’ again. Trust me, you don’t!”  
“Why do you think he’s lying, Patrick?”  
“I don’t know, maybe he just can’t take that he’s wrong?”  
“Okay,” the doctor closed his notebook and rose from the chair.  
“That’s it?” Patrick asked with surprise in his tone.  
“For now, yes.”  
“For now?” Patrick appeared panicky once more. “You’re keeping me here?”  
“Yes, just for observation, you understand.”  
“No! No, I don’t understand,” Patrick gripped the doctor’s arm only to let go and stand back as an orderly quickly entered the room. “Where’s Bex? This isn’t fair! I’ve done nothing wrong! How can you treat me like this?”  
“I suggest you stay calm, Patrick, I don’t want to have to resort to restraints,” the doctor nodded meaningfully.  
“And a statement like that would calm you down, would it?” Patrick shouted before taking another step back as the orderly moved closer.  
“No,” the doctor placed a hand on the orderly’s arm. “It won’t be necessary will it, Patrick?”  
Patrick stared bleakly at both men before continuing in a calmer voice. “Why have I been arrested?”  
“You haven’t been arrested, Patrick. Why would you think that?”  
“Can I leave here?” he asked, certain he knew the answer.  
“No,” the doctor shook his head, “I’m afraid not.”  
“Then tell me why I shouldn’t think I’ve been arrested.”  
“People are worried about you, Patrick, I want to find out if they have reason to be.”  
“People? You mean Pete?”  
“Pete certainly, but he’s not alone.”  
“No, but I am, aren’t I?” Patrick’s shoulders sagged. “Look, I’m not crazy, I’m not ill and I’m certainly not dangerous, so why am I here?”  
“The initial diagnosis was Stockholm Syndrome,” he explained to Patrick’s shock. “I’m trying to establish if that is the case.”  
“How could it be?” Patrick insisted. “She didn’t kidnap me! Has she said she did?”

The lack of a reply gave Patrick all he needed to know.

“She hasn’t, has she?” Patrick pressed. “You have no right to keep me here!” Nodding to himself as he made a decision that he had almost dreaded, Patrick continued: “I want to see Pete!”  
“That won’t be possible.”  
“Why? Why don’t I have the right to face my accuser? I’d have more rights if I had been arrested!”  
“Try to stay calm, Patrick,” the doctor encouraged again.  
“I want to see him!” Patrick yelled in return, ignoring the advice.  
“If you need to speak to me, my name is Dr Lake,” he continued as if Patrick had said nothing.  
“I want to see him!” he yelled again. “Aren’t you listening to me?”

Completely ignored, Patrick watched with knitted brows as Lake and the orderly retreated from the room, locking the door behind them. Under the threat of restraints, he didn’t feel that he could even try to stop them. It seemed a hopeless and extremely frustrating situation.

“Hold out, Bex,” Patrick whispered as he flopped back down onto the bed once more. “Please hold out. They can’t do anything to us if we stick to what we said.”

*

Meeting with F.B.I. agent Lawson was making Joe nervous. He paced the office as the three of them waited for him to arrive. Glancing up as the movement caught his eye, Andy sighed with annoyance before finally speaking as passed him yet again.

“Sit down, Joe, you’re making me dizzy,” Andy complained.  
“I can’t help it,” Joe grumbled in reply, taking his seat once more.  
“Pete,” Andy began calmly. “Why did you do it?”  
“I didn’t mean to,” he finally admitted. “I was worried about him and I called my therapist for advice.”  
“Why were you worried? He seems fine, happy even,” Andy looked puzzled by the response.  
“Because I realised that it was Bex who kidnapped him and when he admitted it…”  
“Hold it!” Joe interrupted. “What did you just say?”  
“Oh,” Pete turned an expression towards them that was a mixture of guilt and contrition. “I never told you that, did I?”  
“No, Pete,” Joe replied slowly. “We would have remembered that little detail!”  
“I…I… Oh, Pete, I’m so sorry!” Andy stammered on hearing the news, pausing as his shocked mind struggled to find the words to convey his distress.  
“What for?” Pete genuinely seemed not to understand.  
“Think you punched him harder than you thought,” Joe chuckled despite the seriousness of the situation.  
“Oh, that?” Pete sighed. “Don’t be, I deserved it.”  
“So what did your therapist say?” Joe asked keen to get all the details before Agent Lawson arrived.  
“Maybe Stockholm Syndrome,” he sighed. “I admit, I was so shocked, I sort of just agreed with whatever he was saying. Then when they took him…” Pete choked on the words as he tried to explain, strenuously holding back a great new wave of tears.  
“Pete, why didn’t you tell us?” Andy asked growing increasingly upset with each passing second.  
“I was shocked, I didn’t think and then there was all that other stuff and I sorta just lost it a bit and I didn’t realise that I hadn’t told you. I’m sorry, guys. You must think I’m a real jerk,” he sighed.  
“No, not unless we are too,” Joe replied comfortingly. “Hearing that must have been really upsetting. But he actually admitted it?”  
“Yeah, he asked me not to say anything to the F.B.I., which, technically, I haven’t, but I doubt he’d see it that way.”  
“What are we going to do?” Andy asked. “Do you think he’ll admit it to the doctors?”  
“No,” Lawson growled as he entered. “I’ve just got off the phone with Dr Lake, Patrick is quite insistent that this is all a big mistake.”  
“Its definitely a mistake,” Joe sighed, “just not the one he thinks.”  
“What about Bex?” Andy asked tentatively. “Has she admitted anything yet?”  
“No, the pair of them are sticking rigidly to their stories,” Lawson sighed with irritation.  
“What does that mean?” Joe asked, realising there was more to his annoyed sigh than what seemed to be a small issue.  
“It means we can’t hold her,” he frowned. “We have no evidence placing her at Patrick’s, he’s never denied being at her place. He insists that she helped him and that’s all. We’ve taken her place apart, nothing remotely incriminating. If he cleared the place of evidence, he’s done it well.”  
“What sort of evidence?” Pete asked quietly.  
“Any sort of restraint, maybe drugs?” Lawson shook his head. “There’s nothing.”  
“You have to let her go?” Pete frowned deeply. “Let me talk to her.”  
“How will that help?” Lawson quirked an eyebrow.  
“Let me just try,” Pete asked. “Please.”  
Lawson nodded. “It’s worth a try, I guess.”

*

It was a cold, dull, grey walled room with only a table and two chairs in the centre. I was seated on one of them, waiting for what seemed like hours, but was, in reality probably just ten or fifteen minutes. Looking up I noticed a darkened glass panel in the wall and knew immediately that they were watching me. I didn’t know exactly who they were, but I imagined it was at least Lawson. Had Patrick said something? After the last interview, I didn’t expect to be questioned again so soon. Only when the door opened did I realise who had been watching me. Looking up into the tired but obviously pained eyes of Pete, I found myself looking down immediately; I just couldn’t look him in the eye - or to be more correct, his black eye.

“I need to speak to you,” he began.  
“And I need to be released,” I played my part. “I helped your friend and this is…”  
“Drop it!” he yelled at me. “Drop the act! He told me! I know you kidnapped him.”  
“If he told you, then I’d have been charged by now.”  
“No, I said he told me.” The angry expression on Pete’s face softened slightly, but I got the feeling that that was much more to do with his bruising than any lessening of his anger.  
“What happened to your face?”

I saw a slight twitch in response to my question, whatever it was was causing some regret or upset within him.

“Andy didn’t have a drum with him, felt the urge to beat something. I was handy,” he replied casually.  
“They don’t see things the same way as you?” I asked.  
“They do now,” he replied quietly, almost sadly.  
“So you’ve turned them all against me,” I leaned back in my seat. “Do you hate Patrick that much?”

Rushing forward, Pete slammed his hands down on the table, scaring the life out of me and I knew I’d pushed him too far. I tried to jump back and almost toppled my chair in the process. I think I may even have let out a cry of surprise before trying hard to regain my equilibrium and getting my breath back. I stared at him with wide, honestly fearful eyes as he glared down at me. I spared a glance to the glass panel, hoping desperately that if he attacked me, that someone would come to my aid. Don’t get me wrong, he was a skinny thing and not much taller than me, but he didn’t seem slender in a fragile way. No, this man looked as though he could handle himself in a fight, and despite his facial bruising, he exuded the confidence that he would win.

“Don’t bother looking up there,” he spoke slowly, menacingly. “No one’s watching.”

I didn’t know if he was saying that to make me scared or slip up, but I can honestly say it was probably going to have both effects on me. Before I had chance to respond, Pete leaned over the table towards me.

“Listen to me, you self-involved little bitch. You’re going to tell me everything that happened and it’s going to be the truth or they may never let Patrick out of that hospital.”  
“Isn’t that your fault?” I tried hard to hold back the shake in my voice.  
“Yeah,” he croaked with obvious regret in his tone. “But while you’re lying, he’ll never get past this.”  
“What makes you so sure I’m lying?”  
“Cut the crap, Bex!” he yelled at me. “You claim to love him, prove it! He thinks he loves you, but he doesn’t! It’s just Stockholm Syndrome. He’s suffering and he doesn’t need to, you can help him.”  
“It’s not Stockholm Syndrome at all!” I yelled. “He had amnesia, he fell for me long before he got his memory back! He didn’t even know that I…”

“He didn’t even know that you kidnapped him? Now that you’ve admitted it, I think we can talk, can’t we?” 

Pete smirked and I realised what I’d said. I watched as he reached into his pocket for what appeared to be a small Dictaphone and switched it off before leaning back in his chair and folding his arms.

“What do you want?” I asked miserably.  
“There really is no one behind that glass, but I was recording the conversation. So, what I say to them after this is up to you. Which do you want most, your freedom or Patrick?”  
“Those two options aren’t available though are they?” I frowned. “If I say ‘Patrick’, you’ll had over the recording and I lose both.”  
“So?”  
“So you’re not giving me an option are you?” I sighed, I had no choice but to do whatever he asked. “What do you want?”  
“I want you to tell me what happened, all of it. This isn’t normal for Patrick and I want to understand what’s happened to him.”  
I gave it a few moments thought. “You do care about him, don’t you?”  
“He’s my best friend, of course I care,” he replied bluntly.  
“Well, understand this, Pete,” I began in a gentle but serious tone. “I love him, I fell for him while he was lying in my bed recovering. I had no intention of kidnapping him… It just sort of happened.”  
“You don’t just sort of kidnap someone,” Pete scowled. “What happened?”

I told him, the whole thing. How I’d been in his house looking for valuables, the accident, how I just couldn’t leave him there. Taking him home, messing with his memories and finally the whole wretched conclusion as Patrick remembered everything. My final instalment in my bittersweet tale surprised him and, I admit, as I heard myself saying it, I surprised myself.

“He fell for me before he knew I’d kidnapped him, but, I admit, I don’t know if that was just because I’d told him that we were already in love and he was just more open to it. I don’t know… I really don’t know enough about him to know how he would react.”  
“But you’re certain that you love him, despite just admitting that you don’t know him well?” he sounded sceptical to say the least.  
“I… I know how I feel, don’t ask me to explain it. I can’t.”  
“Okay, so you love him,” Pete shrugged unconvinced. “You tried to steal from him, you kidnapped him, you manipulated him and hurt him. I’m sorry, but that’s not love.”  
“I regret all of that, that’s why I was letting him go.”  
“Even though you knew you’d go to jail?”  
“Yeah,” I whispered. “All this… pretending, it was Patrick’s idea. When I woke up, he told me what to say. I went along with it, because I wanted to be with him but I’m still amazed he doesn’t hate me.”  
“So am I,” Pete returned flatly. “That’s why I’m more sure than ever that it’s Stockholm Syndrome. He’s obsessing over you. I think he’s trying to make sense of all of this by replacing his feelings of anger and fear with love, but it’s all wrong, can’t you see that? Can’t you see how much you’ve hurt him?”  
“What do you want?”  
“I want you to go to him and tell him that you don’t love him. That you tried to manipulate him for money and now you’re just doing it to stay out of jail.”  
“He won’t believe that! This was his idea!”  
“You’ll make him believe it, because it’s the only way he’s getting out of that hospital. It’s like the old saying goes, do you love him enough to let him go?”

I stared at him for a few seconds. Part of me couldn’t believe he was asking me to do this, but another part of me understood, as much as I hated to admit it. I nodded.

“Okay, I’ll speak to him.”  
“I knew it,” Pete frowned. “I knew you’d let him go to save yourself.”  
“No, you don’t know. You don’t know because it isn’t true. I’m not saying this because I’m admitting I don’t love him. I’m doing this for Patrick’s sake… and… and for yours too, for everyone. To put everything back the way it used to be… before I messed everything up. Yeah, I do believe he loves me, I really do and I think, deep down, you know it too. But… it can’t happen. I’ve hurt too many people.” I paused while I tried desperately to hold my voice steady. “I’ll tell him anything you need. Anything you want me to say, I’ll say. I’ll break his heart… and mine too… yeah. But I’ll say it… Anything for him. Anything.”

As I stared across the table at Pete, I swear he was a pale as I was. At that moment, I think we both only wanted what was right for Patrick. Sadly, our opinions of what was right were poles apart.


	11. Can Bex Do What Pete Wants?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bex and Patrick talk. So do Pete and Patrick. It's all very sad :'(

“Bex!” Patrick cried excitedly as I was allowed into his room. “I didn’t think they’d let me see you! Are you okay? You didn’t say anything did you?”  
“Patrick…” I paused; this was going to be much harder than I had imagined and, trust me, I expected it to be almost impossible. “This has got to stop, I can’t lie any more.”  
“No,” he shook his head, “just this one. We… They won’t let us be together otherwise.”

Obviously Patrick had no idea that they weren’t going to let us be together no matter what was said or done. Earlier, I had told Pete that I didn’t know Patrick well enough to know how he would react, but he had assured me that it wasn’t normal. At first, I didn’t want to believe him, but now I was starting to view his responses in a different light. I had, if I’m honest, always questioned how he could possibly love me after everything I had put him through and perhaps Pete was right? Was he being irrational? Was this Stockholm Syndrome? How could I possibly tell? How could anyone? Even Pete! But I had no choice but to do what I had been instructed. 

I’ll admit up front that I hated Pete for what he was doing. He had presented his idea as if I had a choice and then criticised me for accepting it. He believed he was acting in Patrick’s best interests and, well, so did I. But I was backed into a corner and Pete was going to get his way; I got the feeling that he often did. He had thought of everything, which is more than I had. He had been expecting me to refuse on the basis that I might incriminate myself when I spoke to Patrick, but he was prepared. Pushing a piece of paper and a pen towards me across the table, he had waited with a grim frown on his face as I read it. I don’t remember the exact wording now, but it basically stated that although they accepted that I was innocent of kidnapping, they understood that I would be need to say anything I could in order to help Patrick and expect no repercussions. Pete had already signed it and adding my name to that paper was, I believed the hardest thing I would ever do, but I couldn’t have been more wrong; that was still to come.

He had told me that they couldn’t charge me unless either of us confessed, but if I said nothing, Patrick would be kept at the hospital and his recovery time would be significant. He had suggested a solution that might allow Patrick to be released and I would have my freedom, but it would break both our hearts. The only other option was to admit it, be jailed and, of course, be separated from Patrick anyway. Plus, most importantly, if I admitted it, there was still a good chance that he would remain in hospital. But what if he was ill? I would be perpetuating it if I didn’t break from I’m completely. How could I risk it?

“We can’t be together anyway,” I replied bluntly, having difficulty looking him in the eyes.  
“Why?” his voice was small, uncertain and he was killing me with his expression. It was as if he knew what I was about to say. The anticipation mixed with fear in his eyes was unbearable.  
“I don’t love you,” I choked out as convincingly as I could. “I never did, it was all about the money.”

He stared at me, his lips slightly parted, occasionally moving as if trying to speak but the words emerged as soundless breaths of air. His eyes… Oh, his oh so beautiful eyes held so much pain, I nearly broke down in front of him.

He stared at me for what felt like an age, I could see so many questions forming in his mind but each question was quickly replaced by a new one and the sheer quantity combined with the inevitable confusion was simply overwhelming him. His eyes glistened and his brow furrowed deeply under the strain of trying to stop the tears from welling in his eyes. Moving forward suddenly and unexpectedly he grabbed my hand and alternately kissing it and holding it to his cheek.

“No,” he shook his head slowly, refusing to accept the words. “No, that isn’t true, I know it isn’t. Why are you saying that? What have they said to you? Is it the police, the doctors?”

I wanted so much to tell him at that moment. It would have been hard enough if it were true, but I loved him and it was crushing me. Pete’s words kept coming back to me: Make him believe it. It really was for the best wasn’t it? I had to believe it.

“Look at you, do you honestly believe I could have wanted anything more from you than money?”

Patrick spun away from me, dropping my hand as it were burning him. I watched with blurred vision and my eyes stinging, grateful that he had his back to me and couldn’t see the tears dampening my lashes.

“I don’t believe you were pretending,” he insisted quietly, his voice broken and stilted as he fought his shattered emotions.  
“Believe it,” I replied dully. 

By now, I wasn’t even trying. I couldn’t. My heart was broken, lying in ruins alongside his and all my energy and resolve had left me. I had tried my best and, as a result, he was hurting more than I could bear. This was entirely my fault. I had brought this on myself, but worse than that, I’d brought it on him too. I think it was the only reason I had been willing to go along with Pete’s idea. 

And then, of course, it occurred to me: Pete wasn’t in charge here. I was, to an extent. I remembered my conversation with Pete and one part of it in particular…

“It’s not Stockholm Syndrome at all! He had amnesia; he fell for me long before he got his memory back! He didn’t even know that I…”  
“He didn’t even know that you kidnapped him? Now that you’ve admitted it, I think we can talk, can’t we?”

I suddenly realised that I hadn’t actually admitted to kidnapping Patrick, that was just how he presumed my sentence would end when I had cut it short. Of course, I had told him everything after that, but by then he had long since switched off the recording. Added to that, I now had a signed document that stated that they actually accepted that I hadn’t kidnapped him. The best bit, I allowed myself a smile as I realised, was that Pete would never risk hurting his best friend by telling him that my attempts to break his heart had been his idea - how could he say that to him and hope to keep their friendship? Now that I thought about it, I held all the cards and I was about to play them.

“I can’t do this!” I cried. “Patrick, of course I love you!”  
“Huh?” he half turned to me, confused by the mixed messages.  
“The doctors think you have Stockholm Syndrome, they won’t believe that I helped you. They said they’d keep you here while you still thought you loved me, I couldn’t bear that!”

I waited while he processed this new revelation, hoping desperately that I was going to convince him and I knew that somewhere in another room, Pete was probably apoplectic - the thought alone almost made me smile.

“But… you, you really do… it’s not the money?”  
“Patrick, you know I didn’t know who you are! I don’t want your money; I just want you! I thought if I did this they’d let you leave the hospital. I thought I could be without you for your sake, and I know it’s selfish, but I can’t!”

Rushing back towards me, allowing the tears to spill from his eyes, Patrick pulled me close to him with such force that I almost toppled. I was crying too now and we simply held each other, enjoying the closeness and the tenderness of the embrace.

“Don’t ever do that again,” he mumbled, his head buried in the crook of my neck. “I’d be here all my life rather than never see you again.”

If it was Stockholm Syndrome, it was a bad case. If it was love, it was an equally bad case. Before we had even pulled away from each other, the door opened and standing there was Agent Lawson and alongside him, Pete, aiming the darkest and most furious glare I had ever seen, in my direction.

“What’s happening?” Patrick asked, lifting his head to display his puffy bloodshot eyes.  
“I think I’m about to be arrested,” I replied calmly.  
“Pete, no, you’ve got this all wrong!” Patrick insisted, his voice a little strained.  
“Don’t blame him,” I replied earning a look of surprise from Pete. “I think this is out of his hands now.”

Was I being kind to Pete? Was I doing my best to preserve their friendship? Or was I simply trying to place a modicum of doubt in Pete’s mind. Perhaps I could convince him he was wrong about me? Even though, strictly, he had me figured from the start. I hoped it was enough.

 

*

Patrick took a seat at the table near the window, ignoring Pete who had remained after everyone else had left. He didn’t know what to do. Did Patrick want him to join him at the table? Did he want him to leave? He didn’t move, he didn’t even look away, remaining staring at his friend, waiting either for an instruction or a stream of abuse.

“Well?” Patrick asked calmly.

Pete took a step forward but hesitated; he still wasn’t clear what he wanted.

“Do you want me to stay?”  
Patrick turned; the look in his eyes was glacial. “Well, you can do whatever the hell you want, can’t you? And you have, haven’t you? Me? Well, I have no rights in here. I can’t leave, I can’t speak to anyone unless they choose to speak to me, I can’t even breathe without permission! Are you happy, Pete? You got what you always wanted – absolute control over me. Congratulations, I hope you’re satisfied!”  
“I never wanted this,” Pete replied quietly, unable to take in the depth of Patrick’s anger and bitterness.  
“Really?” Patrick drew patterns on the steamed up glass of the window. “Are you telling me that you didn’t contact your therapist to talk about me?”  
“No… But I…”  
“Are you telling me that you didn’t agree to have me forcibly committed?”  
“No, but it was a…”  
“Are you telling me that it’s not your signature on the committal papers?”  
“Patrick, please let me explain…”  
“So it would seem that you got exactly what you wanted,” Patrick stated coldly.  
“I was confused,” Pete sighed.  
“Confused!” Patrick spat contemptuously, as he turned back to face the bassist. “When you’re confused you make an effort to establish the facts, not make wild assumptions then act on them without thinking!”  
“I didn’t do anything without thinking and my assumption - if you insist on calling it that - was not wild! Why can’t you see this clearly? She kidnapped you! Held you to ransom! Drugged you… What else, Patrick? What did she do to you? This is not like you! It’s not!”

Patrick stared out of the window once more, his expression stoney and unforgiving. Frustrated by his silence, Pete pressed on.

“Come on Patrick! You want me to understand? Well, okay. Explain! Tell me exactly what she did and how you came to love her. Go on! Tell me!”

Standing so quickly, Patrick spun to face Pete and the chair fell back, clattering to the floor, but neither man paid any attention.

“Get out, Pete!” Patrick yelled angrily. “You don’t want to know, you just want to try to find a way to feel better about yourself. Well you’re wasting your time! I’m not going to help you try to justify having me locked up in this damn place just because you’re too short sighted to see what’s right in front of you!”  
“You can’t explain, can you? It’s not that you don’t want to, it’s because you can’t!” Pete slammed his hands down on the table, more out of frustration than intimidation. “I want to understand, Trick, I really do, but I don’t and deep down, I don’t believe you do either. I’m not saying you don’t feel what you think you feel, but I don’t believe it’s love.”

Patrick paused, taking in Pete’s words, slowly mulling them over.

“And that’s what you think is it?”  
“Yeah,” Pete sighed, grateful that a dialogue had been established, however strained. “There’s a lot we don’t know… don’t understand. If you want us to, you have to fill in the gaps, Trick. Why won’t you tell me?”

Patrick frowned; it was a good question. Turning silently, Patrick picked up the fallen chair and settled himself into it.

“Sit down, Pete,” he sighed.

With a hopeful smile plucking at his lips, Pete pulled up a chair to sit opposite his friend. Staring at him for a few moments, Pete frowned again as Patrick kept his eyes lowered.

“Trick?”  
“I don’t know what you want to hear,” Patrick looked up, his expression pale and tired. “You want me to say I’m crazy or something?”  
“No!” Pete reached out, resting his hand gently on Patrick’s arm. “Just talk to me Trick, tell me what happened. Make me understand.”  
“You don’t want to understand, you just want to be right.”

Patrick’s voice lacked the anger he had displayed earlier, now he just seemed tired and unhappy. Pete lowered his head with a deep sigh, moving his right hand to join the other on Patrick’s arm, he squeezed lightly and, he hoped, reassuringly.

“I thought I was right… but that’s a lot different to being right. Now… now I just want to understand. I can’t do that without your help. Talk to me Patrick, tell me what happened… everything.”

Patrick drew circles with his finger on the table, apparently concentrating hard on the movement of his fingers.

“What’s wrong?” Pete asked gently. “Is it too hard for you?”  
“What if you are right?” he asked almost choking on the words.  
“Trick?” Pete gasped in surprise as he felt the drops of tears splash onto his hands.  
“This is the most I’ve felt for anyone since…”

Dropping his head onto his arm, Patrick released his pent up tears with great shuddering breaths. Pulling his hands away from Patrick’s arm, Pete dropped from the chair to one knee and scooped his friend into his arms pulling him gently from his own chair until he cradled him against his chest, supporting him as he gave way to his confusion and grief.

“It’s okay,” Pete stroked Patrick’s hair as he settled into a more comfortable sitting position on the floor ant gently rocked him. “It’s okay.”  
“B…but it…” Patrick stammered through the sobs only to be interrupted.  
“No… it’s okay. It’s all okay, Patrick. Just rest.”  
“You think I’m crazy,” Patrick mumbled as the tears began to subside and an overwhelming urge to sleep washed over him.  
“No,” Pete replied comfortingly. Brushing away a few tears from Patrick’s cheek as he looked up, Pete smiled. “You’re not crazy, I know that and I never thought you were.”  
“What about Bex?”  
“You need to rest. You’re gonna get some sleep now, yeah? And I’ll come back tomorrow and you can tell me everything that happened. Okay?”  
“I don’t want to stay here, Pete,” Patrick replied miserably.  
“I know… I’m sorry, I really am. You’ll be out soon, I promise. I’m so sorry, Trick, I really never wanted this.”  
“You think I’ve been manipulated, but maybe you have too? You were talked into this? It doesn’t mean it didn’t feel like the right thing to do, does it?”

Pete smiled; even in the midst of trauma Patrick was still able to make him see things in different lights. It was a compromise. Patrick was trying to understand Pete’s actions, in return he asked for the same consideration. It was the very least he could do.


	12. Cara

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick talks to Pete's therapist

“Did you get to speak to him?”

Andy rose from the chair as Pete walked into the room. From the tired and haggard expression on the bassists face, he knew that the two friends had talked.

“Yeah,” Pete sighed, throwing his jacket to a nearby chair and missing by several feet, not even stopping to glance at it as it hit the floor. Joe cast a meaningful glance towards Andy and whistled quietly through his teeth. 

“How did it go?” Andy asked the obvious question, aware that there seemed to be an equally obvious answer.  
“He’s so messed up,” Pete flopped down into a chair and played with his fingers, unable to meet Joe and Andy’s intense gaze as he spoke. “And the worst of it is… he knows it too. I don’t know what that bitch did to him, but he’s convinced he loves her. No, strike that, he’s not convinced he does, he’s scared he doesn’t.”  
“That doesn’t make any sense, Pete,” Joe frowned, his brow furrowing deeply.

Finally looking up, Pete nodded, a grim expression fixed on his face.

“Oh, yes it does,” he nodded again. “He mentioned Cara.”

The room stood in stunned silence, Joe and Andy only able to turn their heads toward their friend in utter disbelief.

“He actually talked about her?” Joe only managed to utter the words in a stilted way, such was his astonishment. “He hasn’t…”  
“No, no,” Pete corrected. “He didn’t talk about her…”  
“Then, what…” Andy began, only to realise that Pete was about to explain further.  
“He said… he said, ‘I haven’t felt this way since…’ and then he stopped.”  
“You didn’t push him?” Joe asked, then immediately bit his tongue as he realised how harsh it sounded.  
“Push him!” Pete gasped. “He practically dissolved on me! I’ve never seen him so unhappy. Well…”  
“Not since…” Andy finished with a faint smile of understanding.  
“Yeah,” Pete nodded sadly. “I’m going back tomorrow… see if I can get him to talk to me. I mean, really talk.”  
“You know,” Joe began with a great deal of uncertainty in his voice. Sighing, Joe felt very unsure whether or not to continue, but it seemed to him that it was only a matter of time before someone said it. “I… I think… Does anyone else think that Bex looks a lot like Cara?”

From the stares of disbelief, it seemed to Joe that he was the only one to have noticed the similarity.

“Okay, so that’s a big no then?” he shrugged.  
“Actually, it’s a yes,” Pete replied shakily. “But I just hadn’t realised before you said it.”  
“Oh, no,” Andy sighed as he realised the implication.  
Pete offered up a small saddened laugh. “Yeah, tomorrow I’ve got to ask him if she’s actually just caused him to fall in love again with the memory of his dead girlfriend.”  
“You honestly think you can get him to talk about it?” Andy asked, his brow creasing with concern. “It’s been two years, Pete, he won’t even say her name.”  
“I know,” Pete met the stare of the worried drummer. “But, you know, I think this might be just what he needs to get past this.”  
“Do you really think so?” Andy replied, his tone heavy with skepticism.  
“Well, if it’s not…” Pete rubbed his fingers across his creased forehead. “I don’t know!”  
“Do you think he loves her?” Joe asked carefully.  
“I…” Pete paused as he gave the question more consideration. Looking up, Pete drew his lips into a thoughtful pout. “I think he’s projecting his feelings for Cara onto Bex. So… no, but… I don’t know. I don’t know the answer to any of these questions!”  
“If you’re right, I feel a little sorry for Bex, I think she loves him and if he really doesn’t…”  
“She kidnapped him, Andy,” Pete’s tone hardened along with his stare. The mounting stress he felt at their continued questions and comments left him feeling increasingly at a loss; all his frustration and bitterness emerging as anger. “Kidnapped him! She’s admitted it. Don’t forget that. She took him, messed with his memories and held him for ransom.” Pete slammed his hand down on the table before yelling: “That’s not love!”  
“Take it easy, Pete,” Joe intervened. “We’re struggling here! You’ve spoken to both of them, we haven’t. We’re just trying to piece things together as best we can and…”  
“You expect me to feel sorry for her?” Pete yelled in return. “I can’t do that, Joe! She’s a hard-hearted bitch who took… and I literally mean took an amnesiac and manipulated him for her own ends.”  
“She was going to let him go,” Andy began.  
“We only have her word for that!” Pete snapped, interrupting.  
“No, Patrick said…”  
“Patrick! He’s barely coherent! She’s taken one of the strongest, biggest hearted men I know and she’s reduced him to the point that he doesn’t even know what he’s thinking!”  
“You don’t know that, Pete!” Andy shouted, trying to make himself heard over Pete’s continued rant.  
“He doesn’t love her, he just thinks he does! For all I know he thinks she’s Cara or at least he wants her to be. He’s not thinking straight! He… He’s… Oh…”

Pete collapsed into the chair, throwing his arms down onto the table, his fingers interlaced in what was essentially a two-handed fist. Dropping his head down between this arms, his shoulders shuddered sharply as the tears were wrung from his eyes in a series of heart-wrenching sobs.

“What have I done?” he whispered through gulps of air. “What have I done?”  
“Pete?” Joe whispered, placing his arms around the stricken bassist. “What do you mean?”  
“It’s my fault he’s there,” he continued to sob. “My fault he’s so upset. I’m forcing him to think about things he doesn’t want to think about.”  
“But he needs to,” Joe tried to comfort him.  
“Does he?” Pete looked up with red puffy eyes. “Does he? What if he’s not ready to? What if it does more harm than good? What if he does love her? What if I’m ruining everything?”  
“You really believe that?” Joe asked skeptically.  
“What if this is some sort of second chance?” Pete dropped his head into his right hand as he stared off into the far corner of the room. “What if all that happens is he hates us… hates me?”  
“Then we take you out of the equation,” Andy spoke calmly.  
“What?” Pete looked up, confused by Andy’s reply.  
“Your shrink, is he here yet?”  
“Doctor Steadman? Yeah he arrived this morning, why?”  
“He needs to talk to Patrick, not you,” Andy confirmed. “You need to stay well away.”  
“But… no! I said I’d go back. I…”  
“You’re in no condition to talk to him. Look at you! The way you are, you will make things worse. Let someone with training talk to him. Besides, he was the one who convinced you to have Patrick committed, wasn’t he? You deserve to have him take the flak now. Have him ask the difficult questions. If Patrick’s going to hate anyone, it ought to be him.”   
“Take the coward’s way out, you mean?”  
“You’re too close to this, Pete. We all are, but you in particular.”  
“Why me in particular?” Pete asked, exhaustion taking the place of his misery.  
“Because you were in this from the start. All that mail you had to read, the message you got, the worry has been on your shoulders for too long. You’re strong, Pete, but you’re not indestructible, as much as you’d like to believe otherwise. Let him do it… it’s his job.”

Pete nodded. It was barely discernible but it was there. Exhausted, frustrated and upset, Pete had to admit that he was in no frame of mind to tackle this. There was a good chance he would only make things worse and he would simply never forgive himself. All he could do now was hope that Doctor Steadman would display the careful, thoughtful and sensitive characteristics Pete had discovered him to have.

 

*

 

Patrick looked up believing hopefully that it might be Pete, as the door opened. Sighing quietly he looked away as an orderly showed a man he didn’t recognise in. 

“Good morning, Patrick,” the man greeted him.

Patrick raised an eyebrow as he heard the distinctive tone of voice. Softly spoken, gentle, and using the style that you might use to say a pained ‘how are you’ to someone who had just broken up with their girlfriend - usually accompanied by tilting your head slightly to one side. 

“Fifty percent correct,” Patrick replied with feigned mild indifference.  
“Fifty percent?” the man asked, puzzled by the reply.   
“It’s morning,” Patrick explained. “But I don’t see what’s good about it.”  
“Why do you say that?” he asked in the same gentle tone reserved for break-ups and the mentally disturbed.   
“Who are you?” Patrick asked abruptly as he rose from the chair. Looking out of the window, deliberately keeping his back to the man, Patrick almost missed the reply as he considered why he had felt so very vulnerable in the chair.   
“I’m sorry, Patrick,” he replied with a smile that Patrick couldn’t see. “I’m Doctor Steadman.”  
“Pete’s Doctor Steadman?” Patrick asked as he turned to face him.   
“That ‘s right, Patrick. I’ve been asked to speak to you. Is that all right?”  
Patrick frowned. “Do I have a choice?”  
“Of course you do, but we thought…”  
“Who’s ‘we’?” Patrick interrupted.   
“Patrick, as you probably know, Pete discussed your situation with me. I couldn’t judge with any accuracy over the phone, but I felt that his reaction to your behaviour warranted closer examination. I talked Pete into having you brought here. I know you’re angry, but don’t blame him. He did what he thought was right.”  
“So, you agree it wasn’t right, then?” Patrick almost smirked.   
“No,” Steadman smiled in return, Patrick was clever. “That’s why we’re going to talk.”  
“I’m tired of talking,” Patrick offered up a sigh that sounded a heavy mixture of anger and frustration. “How long can you hold me here on Pete’s say so.”  
“Until we’ve finished our assessment of you.”  
“What!” Patrick stood aghast. “You mean you can keep me here indefinitely! Don’t I have any rights in here? I haven’t done anything wrong!”  
“That’s not true is it, Patrick?”  
“What?” Patrick’s eyes narrowed in confusion. “What are you talking about?”  
“Didn’t you lie about being kidnapped?”  
“No! Wh… what are you saying? That I wasn’t kidnapped? I’m making all this up? What did he say to you?”  
“Come on, Patrick, you can be honest here. There are no police, no recordings, you can talk to me.”  
“There’s nothing to talk about! I don’t believe this!” 

By now, Patrick was pacing the small room, the ends of his robe swishing as he moved ever faster.

“Why don’t you tell me what really happened?”  
“Pete said I wasn’t really kidnapped? Is that what he said? That doesn’t make any sense!”  
“What do you think he said?”  
“Don’t play these games with me! I’m not crazy, I’m not dangerous and I’m not…”  
“Tell me about Cara.”

Patrick stopped dead in his tracks. All speaking and movement stopped in an instant and as his mouth dried at the surprise question, he merely stood and stared, his breathing short, stilted and quickening with each inhalation.

“That’s none of your business,” Patrick growled angrily at the intrusion.  
“Actually, Patrick,” Steadman pressed calmly, “it’s very much my business.”  
“No,” Patrick shook his head, his features paler even than usual and his lips pulled into a tight frown. “No, it isn’t. I’m here because you don’t believe something about my kidnapping, not…”  
“No, Patrick, you know that’s not true,” Steadman sighed. “If it was simply something seemed suspicious, it would be the F.B.I. Talking to you, not me.”  
“What then?” Patrick asked reluctantly, as he slid back into the chair.  
“Your behaviour concerning Rebecca… Bex,” Steadman nodded for emphasis. “We know she kidnapped you, Patrick. We know, there’s no point continuing to deny it.”  
“What about my behaviour?” Patrick replied, ignoring the second half of the doctor’s statement.  
“Pete was worried about you.” Steadman began. “He thought you might have Stockholm Syndrome; it’s surprisingly common. When I looked into it a little more, at first, I believed it too. You had a very short time with her, a matter of days, but it’s not the time that counts, it’s the emotional connection. You and she made an emotional connection, didn’t you, Patrick.”  
“Like I said, it’s none of your business,” Patrick insisted.  
“I’m afraid it is, Patrick,” Steadman sighed. “If you don’t talk to me, you’ll never be assessed.”  
“And I’ll never leave?” Patrick paused and Steadman nodded slightly leaving Patrick with a strange combination of frustration, anger and fear. “I can’t believe you can do this to me. I just can’t believe it! It’s… it’s just so…”  
“Unfair?” Steadman suggested.  
“I was going for inhuman, archaic and cruel.”  
Steadman nodded his sympathy. “I understand, Patrick, I do.”  
“Just not enough to let me leave?”  
“At what point did you notice that Bex looked like Cara? Was it immediately?”

Patrick looked down and to the side in a short jerky movement, his jaw clamped and his eyes tightly shut.

“You’ve got no right to do this,” he finally managed.  
“I want to sign your release form, Patrick, but I can’t, not if you’re like this.”  
“I’m gonna kill him,” Patrick’s head snapped up and he glared angrily at the doctor sitting opposite. “And yes! I know exactly how that sounds and I don’t care! I am going to kill him!”  
“Very well,” Steadman sighed resignedly as he rose from his chair. 

Patrick looked up urgently, nervous and confused by the man’s actions.

“What are you doing?” he asked hesitantly.  
“Patrick, you’ve just threatened to kill your best friend.” Steadman shook his head. “I can’t order your release. You’re here because it’s believed that you may be a danger to yourself and others. Judging by your statement, I’d have to agree.”

Standing slowly, Patrick stared at the psychologist with ever changing expressions, moving from anger, through confusion, frustration and finally despair. Opening his mouth it seemed an age before any words formed, but even when they did, they were stilted and led nowhere.

“W… wait! I… This isn’t… This…”

Patrick balled his fists in exasperation. They were forcing him to confront something he simply didn’t want to face. A part of him knew he needed to, but it was so much easier to avoid the situation and his friends, although they wanted him to deal with it, could never bring themselves to raise a subject they knew would upset him.

“What’s it to be Patrick?” Steadman pushed.

Tilting his head back, Patrick let out a low guttural scream before spinning on his heels and bringing both fists down sharply on the table.

“I don’t want to talk about it!” he yelled, still with his back to Steadman.  
“I know you don’t, Patrick, but you have to.”  
“Oh yeah!” Patrick spun around to face Steadman, his eyes wide and wild. “You’ve seen to that all right, haven’t you! You’ve got me trapped in here based on some nonsense of Pete’s and they’re using it to get me to get over it,” Patrick complained bitterly, using air quotes for the last three words.  
“Don’t you want to get over it?” Steadman queried.  
“You mean forget?” Patrick asked miserably. “That’s what people really mean, isn’t it?”  
“You don’t have to forget, but you do need to move on.”

Patrick, paused, lowering his eyes as if looking away would make him invisible somehow. Letting out a slow breath, his shoulders dropped as he tried to settle himself enough to speak his next words.

“I… I can’t move on. I’m scared I’ll forget her.”

Steadman bit his lip as he held back a smile of relief; finally, a breakthrough.

“Patrick,” he began softly. “Why don’t we sit down? We can talk. It sounds like there’s a lot that you’ve never had the chance to deal with. I can help. You can be honest with me. I won’t judge anything you say and you don’t have to be worried about upsetting a friend. You can be yourself with me.”

A tear began to roll slowly from Patrick’s right eye. At first it hugged his nose, following the gentle contours before breaking across his cheek. A slight smile formed on his lips as a memory flitted across his eyes.

“That’s what she said,” he replied through almost hiccupped words.  
“You felt comfortable with her then?”

Patrick found himself almost rolling his eyes at the response; Pete would have understood the reference.

“Yeah,” the word emerged suddenly, accompanied by a sigh of almost relief. “I loved her… I still do.”   
“It was tough on you when she died.”

Patrick nodded, noting that it was phrased more as a statement than a question. Steadman was somehow making it easy to talk on a subject he previously wouldn’t allow himself to even think about. It was becoming apparent to him why it was that Pete trusted him implicitly; he had to admit, he was good.

“I was going to ask her to marry me… I did ask her to marry me. The guys don’t know; I never told them.”  
“What did she say?”  
“She said yes,” Patrick smiled briefly at the fleeting memory, before the next one flooded his mind and he found himself overwhelmed as he tried choking back the sudden tears. “He shot her!”  
“You’re talking about the burglar?”  
“You know?” Patrick’s voice was small and shaky.  
“Pete told me some things. That she’d gone home only to find a burglar. She disturbed him and he killed her.”

Patrick nodded, again looking down, with his tears flowing freely from both partially closed eyes.

“They never even found him,” he shook his head in dismay. “He’s out there… now, walking around free. He killed her… And… and just left her lying there like… like she didn’t matter! He destroyed my world and it didn’t even matter to him!”  
“Tell me about Bex,” Steadman changed the subject fearing that Patrick might become too upset to continue.

Thrown by the sudden change, Patrick took a deep breath and allowed himself a few moments for his tears to dry.

“She…” he nodded. “She does look like her.”  
“You don’t have to Patrick, you’ve already come so far today, but can you use her name?”

Patrick gave the question a moment’s thought before shaking his head.

“No.”  
“Can you tell me why?”  
“No.”  
“Do you know why?”  
“I’m tired,” Patrick finally gasped out after a long pause.  
“Of course,” Steadman nodded. “This must be very draining.”  
“You’re done with the assessment?” Patrick asked hopefully.  
“We need to talk more,” Steadman replied carefully.

Patrick appeared to physically crumple and his expression became a mask of unhappiness and pain.

“I have to stay here?” he asked quietly, hardly bearing to hear the reply.  
“Will you promise to come to see me to talk more?”  
“Yes!” Patrick agreed without hesitation. “Yes, anything!”  
“I’ll see what I can do, but if it’s possible, it will be on condition that we continue. You do understand that, don’t you Patrick?”

Patrick nodded with less conviction. It wasn’t what he wanted, but it was a way out at least.


	13. Bex Learns About Cara

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bet finds out about Cara - the more Pete tells her, the more she understands

Rather than stay in a hotel, potentially attracting attention and inevitably the media, Pete, Joe and Andy were all staying in Patrick’s home, certain that he would prefer that to the alternative. How they had kept this out of the newspapers and television was beyond them, but each of them were quietly thankful to their management who had almost certainly arranged some deals to keep it quiet. Pete was particularly happy about it. The negative publicity should it ever get out that he had signed papers to have Patrick committed would, he believed, have ended in him being universally hated by their fans. Despite the thick-skinned front he liked to portray, he knew he wouldn’t be able to cope with their fans’ rejection.

With little more than a couple of hours of restless sleep behind him, Pete stumbled downstairs and into Patrick’s living room, smiling as he noticed Joe dozing quietly on one of the couches, the cushions strewn haphazardly around him. Scents and sounds coming from the kitchen told him that someone was making coffee. That someone could only be Andy.

“Hey,” he called softly, trying not to wake Joe.  
“In here!” came a louder but equally gentle response.

Walking into the kitchen, Pete’s lips turned up into a grateful smile.

“You’ve no idea how much I need that right now!” he said, pointing to the coffee pot, the dark, strong liquid bubbling gently as the last of the water drained into the glass jug.  
“You’re supposed to be sleeping,” Andy admonished gently as he wiped his wet hands on a towel and poured a mug of coffee.  
“I was… I did… sort of,” he shrugged, reaching for the mug only to have it taken away with a look from Andy that said ‘that’s mine’. “I got some,” he continued. “It was enough, for now. Any news?”  
“Let’s sit down,” Andy suggested reaching for another mug for Pete.  
“Just tell me,” Pete frowned as he noticed Andy appeared to hedge and seemed uncomfortable.  
“I think you’re going to need to sit down,” Andy replied cautiously.  
“Why?” his voice suddenly edgy as Andy passed the empty mug back and forth between his hands before finally placing it back on the counter and stared worriedly at his friend.  
“Sit down, Pete, please?”  
“This isn’t good, is it?”  
“Some is, some… I don’t know how you’re going to take it.”  
“You know, Andy, I get the feeling you know exactly how I’m going to take it. Now,” he paused trying deliberately to calm his voice. “What is it? I’ll be fine, I promise.”

Picking up the coffee pot, Andy poured a cup for Pete, handing it to him with a knowing look that said, stay calm.

“He’s started opening up, he actually spoke about Cara,” she sighed, “again, not by name, but he talked about her.”  
“What did he say? Is he okay? Are they letting him out? What did Steadman say?”  
“Pete! I’ll tell you, just relax!” Andy sighed; starting with the simpler things he had expected to keep him calm at least at first, but if this was his initial reaction, how was he going to deal with the really bad news? “Steadman said… he said he’s holding a lot in, there’s a lot of work to do before he’ll start to feel better.”  
“Are they letting him out of there?” Pete asked bleakly, feeling the strain of knowing that was Patrick’s one overriding need.  
“Maybe,” Andy nodded, “he’s going to discuss it with the other doctors, he may even call you for your impression after you saw him. If the doctors agree, they’ll release him. He’s said that we shouldn’t get our hopes up and we definitely shouldn’t tell Patrick he’s getting out, because it’s in no way certain. But he’s going to try.”  
“He thinks Patrick’s better now?”  
“No,” Andy shook his head. “He’d be out but only provided he kept going to see Dr Steadman,”  
“And if he doesn’t?” Pete asked, a worried frown creasing his brow.  
“He goes back in,” Andy sighed.

All of the colour drained from Pete’s face and he shook his head slowly as his eyes filled with water. Staring down at h is coffee mug, Pete tried desperately to hold his emotions in check. He had caused Patrick’s suffering, he’d signed those damn papers! All this was because of him! What right did he have to be upset? It was Patrick who should be upset - with him! And he had every right to be! Pete cursed himself. In his mind he was doing it silently, but in reality he was vocal, he was loud and getting louder.

“Pete!” Andy cried, shaking him by the arms but getting no response. “Pete, you did the right thing!”  
“Wh…what’s going on?” Joe called sleepily as he entered the kitchen, stopping in his tracks as the apparently inconsolable Pete stood shaking and crying in Andy’s grip, still muttering almost coherently.  
“He won’t listen to me!” Andy cried. “I can’t get through to him.”  
Joe raised an eyebrow. “Bronx!” he called loudly.  
“Huh?” Pete stopped his self-depreciation suddenly and turned a confused expression to Joe. “What about him? What’s wrong.”  
“Nothing,” Joe smiled as Andy let go of Pete’s arms with a relieved sigh. “But I had to play the dad card to distract you somehow, you were going a little crazy there.”  
“But I…” Pete’s shoulders sagged. “It’s all my fault.”  
“No, it isn’t,” Joe replied as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s no one’s fault! Patrick has been forced to deal with something that, really, we should have dealt with years ago, but we didn’t have the stones to make him. Now we have, or rather, Pete has, and yeah, it’s painful for us and certainly for him, but in the long run, it’ll be better. He has to face this Pete or it will drive him crazy.”

Pete nodded. Joe’s words made sense, but it still didn’t mean that he liked it, or his part in it.

“Okay, so, what’s the good news?” Pete sighed, ready for something to lift his flagging spirits.  
“Er… That was the good news,” Andy replied with a frown.  
Pete briefly closed his eyes. “So what you’ve got is bad news and worse news?”

As Andy went to reply, the sound of the doorbell interrupted him, staring meaningfully at Joe, he nodded slightly. Joe took the hint and turned on his heels before heading out.

“So what’s the worse news?” Pete asked growing irritable by Andy’s apparent reluctance to speak.  
“They have no evidence to hold Rebecca any more, they had to let her go,” Andy paused as he tried to gauge Pete’s reaction, but he was taking it surprisingly well.  
“I kind of expected as much,” he sighed. “He got rid of the evidence and they’re both staying quiet on the subject. Even my recording doesn’t have an admission on it. Damn it! I wish I’d left that running, or taken in two so she thought I’d switched it off.”  
“I have a friend in the police,” Andy looked away for a moment while he thought about his next words, but he knew he’d have to be quick. “I asked him if he could bring her here.”  
“Here!” Pete cried in astonishment. “She’s coming here? She…”

Pete paused, his eyes widening as he suddenly realised that the doorbell had very possibly signalled her arrival.

“That… She’s here?”  
“Probably,” Andy nodded, before racing forward to catch Pete’s arm as he spun around, striding angrily for the door. “Wait! Don’t you want to find out what happened? What really happened? Why he cares about her?”  
“He cares… No, he thinks he cares because she looks like Cara and he…”  
“Give him some credit, Pete!”  
“I am! Look he lost his memory. She convinced him that they were dating, living together. She looks like Cara, of course he accepted it! And all those feelings came back up to the surface. What the Hell do you think I’m missing here?”  
“When he got his memory back, he should have hated her, not just for what she’d done to him, but for bringing back all those memories he’d tried so hard to suppress. But he didn’t. Why?”  
“I don’t know!” Pete replied angrily. He could follow Andy’s point, but didn’t want to see it. All he kept telling himself was that she had hurt Patrick, she had placed him in a position where he had been forced to hurt him too and it was that that angered him more than anything. But how could he tell Andy? It sounded so selfish.  
“Well, I want to know, and so does Joe, so should you! Hold it together, Pete. Trust me, if I’m wrong and there’s nothing to learn from this, I’ll take everything you’ve got.”

Pete pouted. What could he say? Andy was right and he hated it.

“Just don’t expect me to be nice to her,” he snapped.  
“Just don’t kill her,” Andy sighed, satisfied with the uneasy truce.

 

*

 

“I’m promising nothing,” I heard Pete snap all the way out in the kitchen.

Andy exhaled sharply, only now realising that he had held his breath pending Pete’s reply. Watching briefly as Pete headed towards the living room, Andy followed quickly behind, ready to hold him back if necessary.

Pete stopped in the doorway, staring darkly at me.

“Pete…” Joe began.  
“Andy’s already given me the talk. You don’t need to,” he replied stiffly not taking his eyes from me.  
“Pete…” I began.  
“And I definitely don’t want to hear from you!” Pete yelled, interrupting after only one word.  
“How about we all sit down?” Andy suggested edgily, only to receive a dark sidelong glance from Pete.  
“You want us to play house, or something, Andy?” Pete growled. “This bitch…”  
“You don’t get it do you?” Andy yelled back. “You just don’t get it! We all care about Trick, not just you!”  
“You can bring her here, of all places and still insist you care about him? His blood’s still on the wall out there!”  
“I don’t want to get into it with you, Pete, but if you keep pushing…”  
“Stop it!” I screamed, shrinking back into the chair as Pete turned the dirtiest look I’ve ever seen in my direction.  
“Stop? You want us to stop?” he asked taking slow menacing steps towards me. “You’ve caused all this! Aren’t you revelling in it? Aren’t you just lapping up the attention? You want to destroy us?” he leaned over me, his hands on the arms of the chair effectively pinning me where I now sat. “You want to ruin our friendships?”  
“No!” I cried, surprised by the outburst. “I’m not the one who had him committed, that was you!”

I had never felt such fear until that moment. Pete’s eyes almost glazed and his entire expression darkened to the point I swear his eyes turned black. It was a look that I quickly realised the guys had seen before and in seconds, they had looped their arms around his and were pulling him back.

“Get off me!” he screamed pulling violently against them.  
“Calm down!” Joe yelled somehow managing to hold his arm and be in front of him pushing him back away from me. “Calm down, Pete.”

Still struggling, the angry bassist was pushed back into another chair on the opposite side of the room from which each time he tried to emerge, Joe and Andy kept shoving him back.

“What the hell do you think I’m going to do?” Pete snapped, finally giving in, remaining fuming with bitter anger in the chair.  
“We don’t know, Pete and we don’t want to find out either!” Joe yelled back somehow managing to wring a subdued sigh from him.  
“You think I’m going to hit a woman?” he finally asked resentfully.  
“Maybe not…” Joe began.  
“Maybe?” Pete looked up, wide-eyed and shocked.  
“Okay, no, I don’t think that, but… I don’t know what you were gonna do, but it wasn’t likely to help, was it?”  
“I wanna know where she gets off talking to me as if I’m the one who caused all this!”  
“You didn’t cause this,” I sighed. “I did.”

Pete sighed and threw his hands up in the air, still within the confines of the chair.

“And once again she admits it with no police around,” Pete rolled his eyes. “And you wonder why I have no time for you?”

The moment I said it, I knew I shouldn’t have. No, that’s not true - even as the words flashed into my mind, I knew I was just saying it out of reaction to his attitude. I wanted to hurt him, having no idea that I’d already hurt him deeply. But all this I would find out later.

“You have no time for me because you can’t bear to see Patrick happy!”  
“That’s it!” he screamed launching himself at me.

Covering my face with my hands and pulling my legs up, I prepared myself for the first blow only to be surprised as I was, instead, dragged from the chair and out into the hall.

“There!” he screamed at me, pointing at the hall stairs. “His blood! Do you see that? He comes home from a well-earned vacation and you’re here and you do that!”

I was transfixed by the smears before he twisted me round and threw me, somehow gently, on the stairs. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his cell phone. I was sure I knew what he was going to show me - the cruel and insensitive message I’d sent him - but instead he pushed it towards me, so close I had to recoil. Instead of what I expected, he was showing me a photograph of a pretty redhead holding a toddler.

“This is my wife and son,” he suddenly sounded almost calm, as if the picture of the woman and young boy had instantly removed every scrap of anger from his body. “They thought it was a crazed fan who took Patrick. I helped the police go through the psycho fan mail our press agency had kept and I had to read hundreds of letters from lunatics calling themselves fans, most of them wanting my wife dead and my son in their sick twisted hands! Do you have any idea what that did to me? I did that, not because I don’t want to see him happy, but because I care about him so damn much I’d do anything for him!”

I watched with tears choking me as he responded in kind. Both of us, in silence on the stairs, me sitting and him standing over me, his tears dripping on my jeans.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. It was the most heartfelt thing I think I’d ever said in my life.  
“What for?” he asked, testing me.  
“I’m sorry for what I said to you,” I began. Turning my head to see the blood still smeared on the wall, I felt sick to my stomach because I suddenly realised there was so much more to Pete and his reaction to me than he had told me. “I’m so sorry you had to read all that mail, I can’t imagine that kind of pain. I’m sorry for scaring you, but more than anything, I’m sorry for whatever it was that I did that caused you to be so worried about Patrick as to have him committed.”

Raising his head, he looked at me quizzically, his eyes bloodshot; I don’t think he was expecting that last one and maybe, I don’t know, but maybe it helped.

“I know you don’t believe me,” I continued. “but, despite what I did, I fell for him and he fell for me too…”  
“No!” Pete argued shaking his head. “No he didn’t! You might think he did. He might think he did, but he didn’t!”  
“You don’t know that!” I cried in return. Okay, he had reason to hate me, but he wasn’t there, he didn’t see what we shared, how we felt about each other.  
“Come on, man!” Joe pulled at Pete’s arm. “She’s right, just because…”  
“I’ll show you how I know!” he replied, pulling away from Joe and flicking through the photos on his phone. “There!”

Once again, the phone was pushed towards me, this time with another photo. At first, I was confused, I thought it was me, but obviously it wasn’t. It was taken at a party, from the decorations, I’d say Christmas or New Years, but I had no idea when exactly. It first, I didn’t even recognise Patrick; in the photo he was a lot bigger, still cute, but so very different. The girl on his arm was not me, but the picture looked so like me that it sent a shiver down my spine.

“Who is she?” I asked nervously.  
“She’s the reason I had to do the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do in my life. The reason Patrick probably won’t ever talk to me again.”  
“An ex-girlfriend?” I asked hopefully. I had the oddest feeling that I knew exactly what Pete was going to say to me and in anticipation my heart fell to the pit of my stomach and languished there awaiting the worst.  
“No,” he paused. “ _The_ ex-girlfriend. Not just the one who got away. He asked her to marry him, he doesn’t know even that we knew. Her name was Cara. She was an actress, Ash, my wife introduced them.” He smiled with the memory of it. “They were inseparable almost immediately. He worshipped the ground she walked on, she was everything to him. He asked her after that party and she said yes. The first person she told… probably the only person, was Ash and she told me. The next day, I got a call from Patrick. I was so excited to talk to him, to congratulate him, but I could hear him crying before he even said a word.” Pete choked again as his eyes welled with the memory. “She was killed that night. She went home and disturbed a burglar.”

My breath hitched with Pete’s words, taking me right back to the night Patrick had discovered me in his home, burglarising the place.

“He shot her and left her to die,” his tears spilled out once more. “The doctor said that he hadn’t killed her outright, she’d slowly bled to death, she could have been saved, but no one was there. Patrick blamed himself,” he shook his head. “He wasn’t to blame, but it didn’t stop him and he never spoke about her since. He can’t even bring himself to say her name! They guy was never caught, he got away with it. He destroyed my best friend’s life and simply walked away. And then you turn up, looking just like her! Messing with his memories, making him believe he was with her again and even when he realised you weren’t her, he still wanted to believe he loved you. He couldn’t deal with it then, he’s not gonna do it now! Not without help. I had to do something… I had to!”

I watched silently as he broke down in front of me, barely able to hold himself up with tears rolling down his cheeks. Then the full horror hit me that I knew exactly what he was talking about.

“New Years, 2008?” I asked tentatively.  
“What?” His tears stopped almost immediately. “I didn’t say when it was. How do you know?”  
“The photo, Pete, it’s obviously December,” Andy cut in.  
“I never said what year! How do you know?” he was shaking me now and I was terrified. “Answer me!”  
“I… I…” all I could do was stammer. How could I tell them that I knew all about it? How?


	14. Ghost of the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Possible Triggers
> 
> Patrick finds the strength to talk about the past

I didn’t hear the key turning in the lock, none of us noticed the door opening, but we all heard what came next. As Pete leaned over me yelling at me to answer him, another voice, a shocked and pained voice rose above him.

“What the Hell!”

Within moments Pete was pulled back and slammed up against the wall, leaving me suddenly breathless and wide-eyed with surprise at the sight of Patrick pinning his best friend up against the hall wall.

“What are you doing?” he cried in bewilderment. “What are you even doing here? Bex, are you all right? Did he hurt you?”  
“Did I hurt her?” Pete cried in return, shoving Patrick’s hands away and stepping forward away from the wall.  
“Trick, he didn’t do anything, it just got a bit heated that’s all,” Andy tried hurriedly to explain.  
“I want to hear it from Bex and then you can all get out of my house!” Patrick yelled, angry that his shelter, his haven from all the turmoil and pain had been invaded.

I rose slowly from the stairs in silence, all eyes were on me, the tension in the air was thick and somehow I knew that whatever I said next had the potential to make or break friendships.

“Patrick?” I began gently, taking his hands as I spoke. “Pete didn’t hurt me, he’s just upset.”  
“He’s upset?” Patrick emitted a strained laugh and he shook his head. “No, Pete’s not upset, he’s…”

Moving my hand quickly, I placed my fingers over his lips. I could see from his eyes that he was exhausted and drained and whatever he had been about to say was more about that than any real ill feeling towards Pete.

“He’s got a right to be upset with me, I caused him… all of you a lot of pain.”  
“Not me,” he whispered in return.

My heart sank; he looked so in need of comfort and… And he loved me, still, despite everything that had happened. Now more than ever, I knew I didn’t deserve his love. Cupping his cheek with my hand I nodded slowly for emphasis. 

“You more than anyone.”  
“But you saved my life,” he protested. “If you’d have left me, I don’t think I’d have recovered.”  
“Er… What now?” Joe raised an eyebrow. “This is new.”

Surprisingly staying silent, I noticed Pete’s brow furrow at Patrick’s words. Patrick was much calmer already, but I didn’t know how much he’d want to talk. 

“Patrick’s tired, he needs to rest, he wasn’t expecting any of us to be here, we need to…” I began only to be interrupted by Patrick as Pete opened his mouth to speak.  
“I’m okay,” he insisted before looking directly at Pete as if to encourage him to be quiet. “I’m okay. I never told you what happened the night I got back home and maybe I should because it looks like some of you have drawn your own conclusions.”  
“You came home, she kidnapped you,” Pete frowned. “What are we missing?”  
“Quite a lot,” Patrick sighed as he walked through into the living room and took a seat in the chair I had occupied only a few minutes earlier. “Bex is a thief,” he looked at me sternly, “was a thief.”

I found myself nodding in agreement to his revised statement, it was quite bizarre.

“When I came home, I disturbed her upstairs. She tried to get away, but I caught hold of her and I guess I must have noticed the resemblance, because I couldn’t let go no matter how hard she fought me. I lost my footing on the edge of the stairs and fell. She could have left me, she could have run from the house and left me, but she didn’t. She took me to her home and nursed me back to health.”  
“Or,” Pete cut in. “She could have called 911. But she didn’t, Trick. She took you. You had amnesia and she took you, kept you drugged and messed with your memories!”  
“My memories are already a mess! There’s nothing in me any more that wants to remember what’s real! I was happy to have forgotten everything. That night,” he choked out, “it wasn’t there, all the time playing over and over. That was the real vacation! Those two days when I remembered nothing, when nothing hurt me and I could love again!”

Patrick lowered his head, unwilling to show the tears welling in his eyes. I wanted desperately to comfort him, but I knew there was someone who wanted it more. Dropping to his knees in front of Patrick, Pete pulled Patrick forward in the seat and wrapped his arms around him in a warm and reassuring embrace. I hadn’t realised how nervous he was until I saw his shoulders drop with relief as Patrick place his own hands on Pete’s back, offering his own comfort to his friend. Waiting until Pete sat back on his heels, Patrick continued.

“There was probably a part of me that knew it wasn’t real, but I ignored it, happy just to be with her. Then, reality hit. Just like coming out of a dream, everything flooded back and I couldn’t handle it, I just didn’t want to face it all again. When they let me out of that place… I nearly didn’t come home and if I’m honest the only reason I did was so that I could pack a bag and go. I wasn’t expecting you to be here.”  
“We thought it would help keep it quiet,” Joe explained, his voice hushed and subdued.

Patrick took a deep breath and nodded.

“So, now I’m right back where I was before.”  
“Not completely,” Pete got to his feet and I knew what was coming, I had to preempt it, I had to show that I was willing to do this, no matter how much I knew it was going to hurt.  
“I know what happened,” I interrupted in as firm and a steady a voice as I could muster.  
“What happened?” Patrick looked confused. “When?”  
“New Years, 2008,” I replied, now trembling as his expression fell and a look of genuine fear crossed his eyes. 

I knew what he was thinking - had his girlfriend disturbed me the way he had? That time, had I left her to die? There was only one thing for it - tell them.

“I was living with a guy, we would do robberies together sometimes, but most of the time he liked to go alone. He was… He was sweet to me, right up until we moved in together and then… I don’t know, it all changed. He treated me like dirt.”  
“Did he hit you?” Andy asked softly. My reply was a simple nod but it caused more of a reaction in Pete.  
“Oh, please! Do we have to listen to this sob story?” he cried getting to his feet before flopping down on the arm of the chair in which Patrick was sitting.  
“Shut up, Peter,” Patrick said, darkly. “I want to hear this.”

It was at that point I was certain I’d truly lost every ounce of love Patrick still felt for me.

“He used to hit me, yes, but I kept letting it go, telling myself he was just drunk or high or frustrated when a robbery didn’t work out. Basically, I made every stupid excuse for him that I could think of. He used to disappear for weeks at a time and I never knew if he was gone, caught or even dead. Every time he came back, he was more and more violent and I ended up in hospital more than once.”  
“The scars on your…” Patrick stopped himself, embarrassed by having revealed something that announced our intimacy raised a few eyebrows in the group, but I briefly nodded and continued.  
“Christmas 2008, he disappeared again. By that point I’d had enough… Much more than I could take and I wasn’t prepared to hang around for another beating. I was packing my bags when he came home, reeling drunk and… and spattered with blood. I thought he’d got into a fight already and I was terrified. He pressed me up against the wall screaming over and over, ‘Didn’t I just kill you?’.”

All eyes in the room widened as I spoke the words and I knew they had made the connection that he had shot Cara, but I knew I had to explain the rest before they jumped in with assumptions and accusations of their own. My legs were now in no condition to hold me upright. Weakly, I sat down quickly on the chair opposite Patrick.

“I had no idea what he was talking about, but I wasn’t even thinking about it. He’d as good as told me that he was going to kill me and I had to get away. I tried, you have to believe me, I tried so hard, but he was so much stronger than me. I… I have no idea what happened next. I woke up in the hospital nearly two weeks later and I was…” I sighed as I tried to remember the trauma of that single event. It wasn’t difficult, it still felt fresh in my memory like it was only yesterday and I fought the stinging behind my eyes as my mind reeled from the still vivid shock of it all. “He’d broken several ribs and my leg. I needed surgery on my jaw and a skin graft to cover the scars of his name carved into me. I’d been so out of it, I’d missed all the news reports. I had no idea… Really… I thought he was just drunk but when you showed me that photo and told me about her…” I looked at Pete; he seemed as shocked as I was. “I… Oh, Patrick, I’m so sorry!”

I wanted to run the few short feet to him, to beg his forgiveness, to hold him. Oh, God how I desperately wanted to hold him! But all I could do was watch as Patrick merely nodded, apparently calmly, still deep within his chair but with his eyes filled with distress and an intense dark rage. The fear of that night once again washed over me as I waited for his response.

 

*

Patrick sat in silence for a few more minutes while we all merely waited for his reaction. I wasn’t sure that was such a good idea, but I guess no one wanted to be the one to speak first. Finally, he pushed himself out from the deep, comfortable chair and headed towards the door.

“Trick? Where are you going?” Pete asked, his tone somewhat nervous and shaky.   
“Kitchen,” Patrick answered simply, elaborating no further.

All eyes followed him out the living room door and watched as he crossed the hall and into the kitchen. Joe was the first to speak.

“Does anyone else think he’s handling this really strangely?”

We all just looked at each other. As much as I loved him, I was in no position to offer an opinion. As Pete had pointed out already, I really didn’t know enough about him to know how he would react in almost any situation, never mind something as unusual as this. But even as I was thinking about it, Pete was pushing himself off the arm of Patrick’s chair and was following him into the kitchen. Standing as he drew alongside me, I stepped back in surprise as he raised his hand.

“Why is everyone assuming I’m going to hit you?”

I stared guiltily in response. His expression was one of irritation, but his tone suggested he felt hurt.

“I’m sorry, Pete,” I finally managed. “I was just surprised, that’s all.”  
“I just want you to give me a minute, that’s all.”

I nodded and stepped to the side. The way he was speaking to me… I almost wanted to describe it as kind, but I was reluctant to get my hopes up that he had softened towards me. I certainly wasn’t going to say anything. The priority right now was Patrick and the last thing I wanted to do was to give the impression that he wasn’t my priority too. My insecurities would have to wait.

“That was hard for you to do, wasn’t it?”

I turned to see Andy at my side offering a faint smile. There’s something about Andy when he smiles - his whole face lights up. He has kind eyes and they were trying to reassure me now that he understood.

“Sometimes, Pete takes over,” he explained. “He means well, but… Well, he forgets that other people care about Patrick too.”  
“You believe I love him?” I asked with surprise.  
“Yeah,” he smiled before qualifying his statement. “I don’t know if he loves you though.”  
“And that?” I asked pointing to the route he had taken into the kitchen.

Andy’s expression lost all outward show of happiness and he shook his head lightly.

“Would that be normal for anyone?”

*

“Patrick?” Pete stood in the doorway to the kitchen. He had half expected to see his friend slumped at the table or staring aimlessly out of the window. Instead he found him standing at the counter, a jar of instant coffee in his hand waiting for the kettle to boil. Stepping further into the room, having heard no response, Pete tried again. “Patrick? What are you doing?”  
“I’m making coffee,” he sighed in reply. “I’d make you one, but I want you to leave.”  
“I’m…” Pete paused as he took a couple of steps closer. “I’m not going anywhere.”  
“No,” Patrick replied, his tone clipped. “I want you to leave, all of you.”

Pete watched anxiously as Patrick turned the jar in his hands, the glass container moving jerkily as his grip tightened around it.

“I’m not going anywhere, Patrick,” Pete replied carefully. “And I think you know that.”  
“Get out, Pete,” Patrick mumbled angrily. “All of you. I want to be alone.”  
“No,” Pete shook his head. “I’m staying here, we all are.”  
“Do you want me to call the police?” Patrick returned, his volume increasing, whilst trying not to shout.  
“No, I don’t,” Pete shrugged. “But I told you, I’m not going anywhere. After that news? What kind of a friend would I be to leave you now?”  
“I don’t know! What kind of a friend are you?” Patrick slammed the jar down on the counter, the mug and kettle long since forgotten. “What kind of friend do you have to be to have me committed?”  
“You think that was something I enjoyed?” Pete choked out. “I thought we’d got past that.”  
“When you came to see me in hospital, I was confused and upset…”  
“And you’re saying you’re not now?” Pete’s tone gave away his disbelief only to solicit an angry glare from Patrick.  
“And this is exactly why I want you to go!” Patrick moved forward suddenly, shoving Pete in the chest, forcing him backward.  
“I’m not going anywhere!” Pete yelled back, pushing Patrick’s hands away and advancing so the pair stood inches apart. “Bex just told us she knows who killed Cara so unless you suddenly don’t give a damn about her any more, I’m waiting for your reaction!”

Spinning to the floor, pain exploding across his jaw, Pete knew he’d finally got some sort of reaction, but not one he had expected.

“There! Is that enough of a reaction for you?” Patrick screamed his anger and frustration. “ Well? Is it? Is it? What do you want from me?”

Pete righted himself while remaining on the floor looking up. Patrick’s eyes were wide and wild, almost unseeing as he began to pace rapidly back and forth across the kitchen.

“I…I…” Patrick paused. Nothing in his mind would focus correctly. Words failed him and his accumulated anger and misery bubbled up. Tensing as his throat tightened, choking on all the things he wanted to say, Patrick let everything out as an increasingly loud frustrated guttural scream. Turning swiftly, Patrick swept the mug, jar and nearby utensils from the counter. Shattered ceramic, glass and coffee granules sprayed across the kitchen floor as Patrick clenched his fists looking for an easy outlet for the rest of his bottled up rage. 

At the sound of crashing, Andy, Joe and I were standing concerned and expectant at the kitchen door with Pete now on his feet trying desperately to usher us away.

“Look! You’re doing it again!” Patrick’s voice seemed unusually shrill. “You want them to leave but you won’t do it yourself!”  
“I don’t want you to be overwhelmed, that’s all,” Pete tried to explain but was interrupted.  
“Overwhelmed?” Patrick shook his head bitterly. “I’m sorry! Am I making this difficult for you? You claim it’s unhealthy for me to shut all this up in my mind and not let go, but you try to ruin the one chance I have to get over her. Yeah, I know what this looks like, but, you know what? I really don’t care. I don’t expect you to understand that but you don’t have to destroy what you don’t understand!”  
“Patrick… we only want…” Pete stammered, shocked by the vitriolic tirade.  
“Yeah, I know! You want what’s best for me! And what is that? Tell me! What is best for me? Come on! Tell me!” Patrick demanded aggressively.  
“Patrick, we don’t… we…” Joe tried to say something, but was stopped by Patrick’s harsh stare.  
“What? You’re telling me you don’t know? Well, surely Pete knows! He knows so much about what’s good for me, he had me locked up and all my rights taken away. Oh, but wait… was that good? You know, I don’t think it was!”  
“Trick…” Pete began, his brow creased with concern and despair.  
“Shut up! Just shut up, get out and leave me alone!”

Stepping forward, Pete tried to pull Patrick into, what seemed to him, a much-needed hug but all it seemed to Patrick was an invasion of his personal space. He wanted silence, his own company, he wanted to run, to hide to be free of all the pain. But here was Pete, once again too close for comfort, trying to make things right on his own terms and only managing to increase his anxiety level tenfold. Raising his arms defensively, Patrick tried to fend Pete off but he refused to stand back. 

“Go away!” Patrick screamed. “Leave me alone! Why won’t you just leave me alone!”

Turning, Patrick vented his frustration on a set of utensil jars, sweeping them in a furious rage from the counter and sending them half way across the kitchen floor where they too smashed and mixed with the glass and coffee strewn floor.

“Leave me alone!” Patrick screamed again before dropping to the floor, leaning back against the cupboards and draws behind him. Curled into a ball, his knees now drawn up to his chin, his head buried between them and his hands covering what little could be seen of his face, Patrick released a series of heart wrenching sobs. Crying so hard he struggled to breathe, soon the sobs turned to occasional coughing and gasping for breath.

But for this, the room hung in silence as we all simply stared down at him, hardly daring to move or even breathe. Watching his grief was too hard to bear and I had to do something, say something. If he turned me away, it would kill me, but I had to try. By the time I’d made my decision, his sounds had calmed, his crying softened so that when I took a step forward, I heard a pitiful hiccup and I guessed he was upset that not only we were refusing to leave, but I was actually going to bother him more. As much as I’d clashed with Pete, I had to admit, he was, I believed, doing the right thing by staying. To risk his friendship so much, just to do what he thought was right – well, I realised then and there how much he loved him and it seemed, whether he believed it or not, we had that in common if nothing else.

Kneeling at Patrick’s side without touching him, I decided the best thing to do was to just talk. I wasn’t even going to ask any questions. If I was wrong, he could correct me. Maybe it would be the only way to get him talking?

“Pete says I look like Cara. He showed me a photo of you two together; you looked really happy, but I can see what he means about me. I can’t begin to tell you how I feel about everything that happened, because… because sorry doesn’t even begin to cover it. And I mean everything… What happened to Cara, how you’ve suffered ever since and then to make it all worse… what I did to you. Grief is such a weird thing, there are so many stages and levels to it. From what I’ve heard the guys tell me, you got through the initial shock but you’ve been stuck on denial and guilt. Then, of course, that’s when I came in.” I sighed with the realisation of how much pain I had actually caused. “When you lost your memory, you lost your guilt and we could be together… although in your case, I know it was more ‘be together, again’. I know it was Cara in your mind and not me, and I can deal with that, I have to, but now you’ve remembered everything it’s even worse than it was before. Not only have you been thrown back into the grieving process, but all the confusion has pushed you on a stage. Now you’re dealing with anger and depression and you feel like you’ve lost her twice. You’re pushing everyone away because you don’t want anything to distract you from thinking about her. But they’re your friends… you don’t really want them to go, do you?”

I paused with my heart in my mouth. I wasn’t trained in this sort of thing and I was terrified that he would turn to me and just scream at me to get out – that he did want everyone to leave, that he never wanted to see any of us again.

Looking up, he seemed pale and drained. Turning his head without actually looking at me, he seemed to be searching for the right words.

“You’re wrong,” he finally managed and my heart sank. Had I just made a mistake that would not only crush me but the three men standing behind me? “I don’t think you’re Cara, I never did and I don’t think of her when I’m with you.”

A rush of whispers behind me made me realise that he had spoken her name for the first time in nearly two years.

“Patrick?” I gasped at the realisation.  
“I know,” he croaked, nodding slowly. “I know and…” he looked up, silent tears again slipping down his already stained cheeks. “Pete? Andy… Joe… I’m really sorry… for…” he waved his hand loosely indicating the state of the kitchen. “For this and… what I said. Pete… please forgive me.”  
“Forgive you?” Pete cried, himself crying, now confused and overwhelmed by the request. Dropping to is knees at Patrick’s side, Pete pulled him forward into a firm embrace, filled with the urgency of a man who, given the option, would never let go. “I should be asking you to forgive me!” he sobbed, his tears falling on Patrick’s back as the pair held each other.

“So,” Andy cut in only a few moments later, “Bex knows who it is. We can get him arrested now, can’t we?”

All of us turned to look at Andy, even Pete and Patrick broke their hug for the statement. I doubt it had occurred to any of us, but now it filled our minds as if there was nothing else to think about.

“The closure you’ve never had,” Pete turned to Patrick with hopeful eyes.

All I could think about was how traumatic it would be for Patrick to relive it all again for a trial, but to my surprise, a look of determination and absolute certainty settled on his still pale features as he pushed himself to his feet.

“Not just for me, for all of us and… for Cara.”


	15. He must be miserable right about now

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The guys leave Patrick and Bex to talk

“We should go,” Andy suggested, receiving a series of nods from Joe and Pete. “We’ll get our stuff.”  
“No,” Patrick shook his head. “There’s no need,” he added somewhat half-heartedly.  
“Yeah,” Pete patted his arm. “There is. You need your space and your rest. You’ve been through a lot,” Pete lowered his head and sighed. “Thanks to me,” he added quietly.  
“Yeah,” Patrick replied. “It is thanks to you. I didn’t want to face this, Pete, but I had to. I’ll get through this now.”

Pete looked up, smiling weakly still partly believing that Patrick was just being kind. About to say something that almost begged further confirmation, Pete was interrupted by Joe.

“Come on. We’ll get out, go to a hotel.”

Nodding Pete moved to follow Joe from the kitchen, I saw him turn suddenly and stare intently at me.

“Trick… Do you mind if I have a quick chat with Bex… Sorta private.”

I saw Patrick frown, his brow creased in suspicion.

“It’s okay,” Pete added hurriedly. “I’m not… I have to clear the air a little.”

I smiled as if I appreciated the gesture, but something told me that clearing the air wasn’t really on Pete’s agenda. It might not have been bad, but there was something underlying his need to speak to me. Wanting to know what exactly, I played along.

“Sure,” Patrick replied looking to me for reassurance. I nodded and smiled, I hoped, convincingly and waited until all three of them had left to go upstairs to pack before turning back to face Pete.

“You were a thief?” he asked, even though he knew the answer. “And this guy was a thief too?”  
“I know what you’re thinking,” I sighed, looking down briefly, ensuring I was looking him in the eye when I spoke again. “I wasn’t lying to you before, I really didn’t know about…”  
“Yeah…” he waved his hand impatiently in front of himself. “I believe you. I’m wondering when you’re going to convince Patrick not to proceed with the action against whatever his name is.”  
“What?” I frowned uncertain where he was going with the accusation. “I’m not going to do anything to stop him! If Michael…” I paused. “Not if! Michael did that to Cara… To Patrick. And he deserves everything he gets!”  
“Even though you know he’ll point the finger at you for possibly being there.”  
“I’m assuming they’ll have some DNA evidence, mine won’t be there,” I replied confidently, still not entirely convinced that Pete believed me.  
“Okay, but he can still put your name in the frame for a set of robberies, presumably your DNA will be at those crime scenes.”  
“Probably,” I replied.  
“And you’re okay with that?” he pressed.  
“If you’re asking me if I’m happy to be going to prison, then, no, of course not. But if you’re asking if I’d do it to ensure Patrick got what he needed to get past this. If it’s going to mean he can finally move on… then, yes, I’ll go to prison. And to answer your other question, no, I’m not going to stop him. He needs this and I’m going to help him, if he’ll let me.”

Pete looked down, apparently thinking over my words. I got the impression he was surprised and I could see him considering every word I had spoken, in case I had perhaps phrased everything carefully enough to allow me to easily backtrack. Finally, apparently satisfied that I had meant what I said, he nodded before looking up. Without another word, he headed towards the kitchen door.

“Are you ever going to stop hating me?” I asked suddenly, immediately wishing I hadn’t.

Turning to face me, Pete’s expression softened.

“That helped… Just… If you hurt him… I will find a way to get you put away for a long time!”

I couldn’t help but smile at what sounded like an older brother speech. Except, it should have been said to a guy and it should have been about the brother’s sister. The fact that Pete was being so protective over Patrick was at once ridiculous and wonderful.

“I won’t,” I replied as solemnly as I could. “I promise.”

I hoped that maybe, just maybe, that had cleared the air between us, but I really wasn’t sure. I didn’t know Pete - any of them - well enough to know what they were thinking. All I could hope was that they would give me the chance that, in reality, I didn’t deserve. I hoped that Patrick would too. As Andy had said - I loved him, but did he really love me? Or was he, despite his denials, only thinking about Cara? I didn’t know and I had no idea how I could ever know.

Leaving the kitchen, I saw the guys coming downstairs, their bags packed, including an extra case, which I presumed was Pete’s.

“Got your stuff, Pete,” Joe confirmed. “You barely unpacked any of it anyway.”  
“Just a toothbrush,” Pete replied.  
“Oh,” Joe sighed. “Where is it?”  
“I’ll get it,” Patrick offered, turning and heading back upstairs.  
“I… I’ll er…” Pete mumbled as he pushed past Joe, still on the stairs and headed after Patrick.

*

Plucking the toothbrush from the holder in the bathroom, Patrick turned, surprised to see Pete standing in the doorway. 

“I knew which one it was, Pete. The one that isn’t mine,” he added after receiving no reply.  
“I know,” Pete nodded. “Trick… I gotta talk to you.”  
“Okay, but I’m actually glad you followed me up here. I’ve been thinking about what happened, the police and stuff. You couldn’t have gone straight to the F.B.I., there must have been a cop working the case before that.”  
“Yeah,” Pete nodded.  
“Well? Who is he?” Patrick pressed.  
“Mitcham, Detective Mitcham,” Pete began only to be interrupted.  
“You got his number?”  
“Yeah, but, about that, Patrick,” Pete shrugged uncertain how to proceed.  
“What?” Patrick replied, concerned but Pete’s evasiveness.  
“You do know that if you find this guy he’ll have details of robberies Bex has been involved in.” Pete waited briefly for a response. “He can place her at those robberies, he can get her arrested.”

Patrick frowned, staring, somewhat confused by the statement.

“Suddenly you care about Bex?”  
“No,” Pete began carefully. “Not so suddenly, I care about you.”  
“So, what, now you believe I love Bex?”  
“I don’t know what to believe, Trick, but I do believe that you think you do and if she’s arrested… how are you going to take it?”

Patrick nodded, turning the toothbrush in his hands before handing it to Pete.

“What do you think I should do?”  
“After what I did to you? You… You’re asking me?”  
“You did what… what you thought was right,” Patrick half smiled.  
“I was wrong,” Pete looked down.  
“Pete!” Andy called up. “We got a cab.”  
“Maybe,” Patrick pulled his friend into a hug. “Maybe not.”  
“So…?”  
“I’ll think about it.”  
“Pete!” Joe called. “The meter’s running!”  
“I’ll call you tomorrow?”

Patrick nodded with a slight smile as he turn Pete around and pushed him gently out of the bathroom.

*

I noticed an odd expression on Pete’s face as he came down the stairs. I didn’t know what had gone on between them but he was smiling, yet at the same time looked like he may actually burst into tears. I couldn’t bring myself to tell him that I’d asked for a lift, I thought it might just send him over the edge. Luckily, Joe did it for me.

“We’re dropping Bex off at…”  
“No,” Patrick interrupted. “Bex is staying.”

I looked directly at Pete who seemed to be trying hard not to look in my direction. He wasn’t reacting to the news at all, it was really unnerving me. What had gone on upstairs? One thing was certain, it was way more than retrieving a toothbrush. 

I’ll admit, there was a part of me that wanted to react myself. He hadn’t asked me if I wanted to, just that I would be staying. But then, of course I wanted to. I wanted to take care of him, I never wanted to leave his side. This was my chance to really get to know him, to find out if it was me or Cara he was thinking about. It was a risk, I knew that, but one I knew would happen sooner or later. Perhaps sooner was better?

I watched silently as the guys said their goodbyes and headed out to the waiting taxi. Patrick closed the door and pressed his back to it with a sigh.

“Can I get you a drink?” he asked with a hopeful smile.  
“Got any wine?” I asked despite the fact it was barely four-thirty.  
“Am I ever glad you said that!” he laughed as he walked past me and back into the kitchen.  
“Glad?” I asked, uncertain how to take the comment.  
“Yeah, come on, we’ll grab a bottle and order some take out. I really don’t feel like cooking.”  
“You cook?” I asked with a smile, suitably impressed.  
“Yeah, I cook!” he grinned back at me. “How else do you think I eat?”  
“Take out?” I shrugged.  
“If you ever see an old photo of me… Well, let’s just say you would have been right then, now, I cook, I clean, I sew! I’m the perfect modern gentleman.”  
“Yes, you are,” I murmured.  
“I heard that!”  
“Damn!”  
“It’s okay,” he turned offering a playful shrug. “I liked it.”  
“Patrick,” I hesitated as he opened the fridge door and I could no longer see his face.   
“What?” he asked closing it over, sensing something serious.  
“Why did they let you leave the clinic?”  
“Because I’m not crazy,” he replied casually as he opened the fridge again and retrieved the bottle. “There are some take out menus on the counter, under the kitchen scales.”  
“Odd place to keep them,” I commented.  
“Not really,” he replied. “If you saw an old photo of me, you’d know why.”  
“I’ve seen one,” I turned an apologetic expression toward him. “Pete showed me.”  
“Oh, great!” he rolled his eyes. “Thanks Pete, you owe me!”  
“I thought you looked cute!”  
“Cute?” he frowned. “And now?”  
“You look hot,” I blushed.  
“Nice save,” it was his turn to blush, and I almost didn’t see it as he turned to get two glasses. “Bring the menus, we’ll go through to the living room and pick something.”  
“Patrick…”  
He sighed. “I have to go for sessions with a guy recommended by Pete’s shrink.”  
“How do you feel about that?”  
Patrick shrugged. “Well, you know, I’m in LA now, it was only a matter of time.”

Following him through into the living room, I felt surprisingly comfortable with him, but perhaps the most surprising thing of all was that he seemed relaxed with me. Getting to know him probably wasn’t going to be as difficult as I imagined. 

 

*

I could see daylight poking through above the heavy drapes. It was very bright and I could tell that it was going to turn out to be one of those gloriously sunny days that hurts your eyes just thinking about it. I was quite happy where I was. Actually, I was very happy where I was. I had woken about twenty minutes earlier, disorientated, sleepy and confused, in bed in a mostly dark room. Still unused to the the darkness, my eyes tried to focus and as they finally managed, they settled on the handsome blond lying next to me. Momentarily I was shocked, I even gasped in surprise. Before you ask, we weren’t drunk, this wasn’t a drunken mistake that neither would remember doing, just simply something I wasn’t used to and in my sleepy state, I had momentarily forgotten where I was. As quickly as I had been surprised, I was smiling. Yes, this was something I wasn’t used to, but I could get used to it. Oh, yes, I could easily get used to this! I rolled onto my side and watched him sleep. He was partially curled with the comforter pulled close around him, the top of it almost all the way up to his nose. Such a sweet, cute nose. It’s so straight and small, I know this sounds strange perhaps, but I really wanted to draw my finger down the length of it from the bridge to the tip and in moments I realised I was doing just that! I must have been tickling him; as I pulled my hand away, his nose and brow crumpled and his mouth twitched from side to side. It was so sweet I couldn’t help but giggle.

“Just for that,” he began without even opening his eyes, “you can make me breakfast in bed.”  
“And if I refuse?” I argued playfully.

He turned, opening those beautiful blue-green eyes, fixing me with a pair of puppy-dog eyes, his lips slightly parted.

“You can refuse me?” he gasped in mock astonishment. “I’m doing something wrong!”  
I snuggled into him, spooning up behind him with my arm draped over his bare chest. “You’re not doing anything wrong,” I replied with a happy sigh.  
“I’ll have that breakfast then,” he chuckled.  
“What do you want to do today?” I asked, pushing myself up onto my elbow and trailing my hand down his arm.  
Patrick almost frowned as he gave the question some thought. “You know what? I’d like to just go out, get a bit of sun, relax and have some fun.”  
“Patrick?” I began hesitantly. “I need to ask you…”  
“No,” he almost shouted. “No, you don’t.”  
“I do,” I pressed quietly, feeling very guilty as I spoke the words.  
“I’ve got to talk to a shrink,” I felt him almost sag under my touch. “I’ve got to explain everything to a complete stranger. I’ve got to say all this to someone I don’t even know, never mind care about. Do I really have to convince you too?”  
“Patrick…” I chewed my lip before continuing. “Don’t you think that you need to convince me more than anyone else?”

He wasn’t looking at me to begin with, but he had turned his head enough that he was acknowledging me. Now, he turned away, burying his head in the pillow and was sighing heavily. His head was so messed up, his feelings - his anger and hurt - buried so deep. I had just about come around to the idea that I hadn’t caused the problem, but I had triggered it. The pain he was feeling had risen to the surface because of me and now I realised that I was being selfish pushing him before he was ready. He had dealt with so much lately, not least of all being kidnapped, I had no right to make demands of him. I wanted to be with him and I was. Couldn’t I be happy with that? Even if it didn’t last, even if he really was just in love with the memory of Cara, I already had more than I had any right to imagine I’d have. I stroked his arm again gently.

“But we don’t have to think about that today,” I leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Today is about you and making sure you relax and enjoy yourself.”

Rolling onto his back, he looked up at me, his expression one of sadness or guilt, I couldn’t determine which.

“I know what you want me to say is ‘No, you’re right, we should talk about this’, but, even knowing that, I’m still a guy and I really don’t want to.”  
“Good! I don’t want you to either,” I lied, but I lied convincingly. “There’s been enough drama lately and it’s about time we had some fun! Now, about that breakfast in bed,” I smiled.

He grinned up at me. It began as a happy, broad smile but soon turned mischievous with a dark twinkle in his eyes. I returned with my own questioning stare and then a gasp of surprise as he grabbed my arms, gently but firmly and half dragged, half spun me, manoeuvring me quickly onto my back. Lowering himself slowly, pressing me down onto the comfortably warm mattress his lips brushed mine with the same tingling sensation I had felt the last time he had kissed me. Caressing my hair as his lips left leave a trail of kisses down to my neck, he whispered:

“Change of plan.”  
“Looks like the same plan, but I’m breakfast,” I chuckled.

His lips lingered at the base of my neck, his warm breath sending shivers down my whole body as he spoke.

“Oh, no, you’re way better than breakfast.”

*

Pete pulled the phone from his pocket once more, prompting Joe to pluck it from his hands.

“Leave him be!” Joe insisted, phone in one hand, toast in the other.

The pair were one of the few people in the hotel’s large dining room still at breakfast; Joe enjoying a simple breakfast of eggs and toast, Pete making do simply with a coffee.

“It’s nearly ten o’clock!” Pete protested reaching for his phone and being frustrated as Joe stuffed it into his pocket. “I said I’d call him.”  
“Leave him,” Joe insisted. “At the very least, he needs to rest. Just give the guy some space.”  
“You don’t understand, I need to know if he’s reported it yet. I need to make sure he’s going to.”  
“You think he won’t?” Joe shook his head. “He seemed pretty certain last night.”  
“Yeah, until he realised that Bex would probably get arrested for her robberies when they pull this guy in.”  
Joe nodded his understanding. “That’s what you two were talking about? Well, there’s no point calling yet, he’ll have to talk to Bex, get his details and that’s if he does it.”  
“You think he won’t?” Pete asked with a frown.  
“Maybe not, not if he thinks he’ll end up losing Bex too.”  
“Yeah, well, she’s…”  
“There’s a limit, Pete!” Joe interrupted. “There’s a limit to how much one man can stand. Patrick passed that a long time ago.”  
“No, he’s stronger than you think,” Pete argued.  
“Yeah, I know he is, but he still passed his breaking point. You know he did, Pete, that’s why you never pushed him to deal with it. But now he’s got help.”  
“We’ve always been here for him,” Pete protested, returning his half-raised cup to the saucer.  
“We have, yes, but it’s Bex he needs right now,” Joe replied softly.  
Pete shook his head. “He’s just remembering Cara, that’s all.”  
“Maybe,” Joe nodded. “And this is going to sound pretty mean, but he needs that right now. Even if that’s all this is, she’s doing something that none of us can do and he needs that.”

Pete turned the cup on the saucer, deep in thought, before sighing heavily. Joe was right, Patrick did need her, if only to prompt this reaction in him. He had spoken Cara’s name for the first time in nearly two years. He had her killer’s name, or would soon have if not already. He was preparing to bring the guy to justice, to get that final release that he had needed for so long. Yes the circumstances that had brought him to this point had been painful and unpleasant, but it was always going to take something drastic or he would have wallowed in the pain of her death for years, perhaps never coming to terms with her loss. It was altogether possible that when all this drew to a close, Patrick would no longer need Bex, no longer feel anything for her and she would be abandoned, almost certainly in prison. Pete couldn’t help feeling a pang of remorse. She had promised to stand by Patrick in the knowledge that she may taken from him or ditched by him at any moment. She could have left, disappeared into anonymity again, never to be found. But she didn’t.

“She really cares about him,” Pete muttered staring at the rapidly cooling coffee.  
“Yeah,” Joe agreed. “He’s pretty sure he does too, but he might not and he knows that.”  
“Oh, God!” Pete shook his head. “He must be miserable right about now.”

*

Patrick gently caressed my shoulder, the pair of us still lying close in a tender embrace, our bodies glistening and almost glowing with a gentle blush of pink.

“That conversation I wanted us to have,” I began tentatively. “I don’t think I need it now.”  
“Really?” he asked me, his forehead touching mine as he trailed his fingers down my arm until they intertwined with mine.  
“No,” I smiled. “I’m convinced.”  
“That’s a shame,” he sighed dramatically, “because I was planning on convincing you again this afternoon.”  
“Well,” I laughed. “If you insist.”  
“I mean it, Bex, I haven’t been this happy in nearly two years,” he placed his fingers under my chin and lifted my head until we were looking into each others eyes. “And I’ll prove it to you every day if you need me to.”

There were no other words for it - I was in love with this wonderful, amazing man.


	16. Well, you found me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick goes to the police, but it turns out to be more problematic than he thought

I was comfortable. No, strike that, I was very comfortable. It was a beautiful sunny day, not too hot, but pleasantly warm with a soft breeze. One of those days when the air is just the right temperature and it leaves you feeling safe and protected. Although that was easily achievable. Right now, I think I’d have felt safe in a tank full of sharks. I was in a park, lying on a bench with my head in the lap of the most amazing man I had ever met. We weren’t even saying anything to each other. I was lying down with my knees bent and my eyes closed, he was sitting, occasionally stroking my hair, humming a lovely melody that I felt maybe I’d heard before. It was blissful, it was idyllic, but it was short lived.

“Bex?” his tone gave nothing away of the question to come.  
“Hmm?” I murmured, not even opening my eyes.  
“Why did you become a thief?”

My eyes shot open, wider than I thought possible and there he was looking down at me, a look of calm anticipation resting on his handsome face. His entire expression seemed to suggest that I could say anything and he would accept it, be happy with it, provided I told him the truth. I closed my eyes again in discomfort. The truth was the last thing I wanted to involve myself with. He seemed so patient, so understanding but this was not a good memory for me. I truly didn’t want to explain but I got the distinct impression that evading the question was not an option for me. Sighing, I opened my eyes again.

“That’s a bit of a strange question to ask, isn’t it?” I asked nervously.  
“Not really,” he reasoned. “If you had been an accountant, I’d have asked why you chose to do that.”

Damn it! Why did he have to be so reasonable?

“You really need to know?” I asked, hoping he’d say no and we could just enjoy the rest of the afternoon.  
“I really need to know,” he repeated softly.  
“Let’s go inside somewhere,” I suggested. This particular story was too dark to share with the sun and the way I felt now as the memories came flooding back, I needed a drink.

As we headed for the car in silence, I was willing him to change his mind and as if he could read my mind he reached out a reassuring hand and taking mine in his, he gave it a light squeeze.

“I’m not going to judge you, you know, just be honest with me. It was what you used to do, not what you do now.”

I frowned. This was the second time he’d said that and although I knew that realistically I couldn’t continue being a thief if I wanted to be with him, it still irritated me that it hadn’t been me saying to him that I would stop. It hadn’t been my decision, it had been his foregone conclusion and I hadn’t even been consulted. But, that said, I knew it would be stupid of me to make something of it, after all, like I said, I was going to stop anyway.

As we drove, in search of one of his favourite haunts – a small, but he told me, usually quiet bar about twenty minutes drive away – we sat in virtual silence. I didn’t want to seem as if I was changing the subject by talking about something else, but there was something I wanted to ask him. Something I’d wanted to speak to him about since the guys left the night before but each time I had broached the subject he had managed to change the subject each time.

“It’s okay to talk, you know,” he chuckled, as if he’d read my mind. But that comment did the trick. I was resolved. If I was going to talk about something I didn’t want to, then so was he.

“Why haven’t you asked for the name of guy who killed Cara?” I tensed up as I asked the question and from the strained look on his face, so did he. “I thought you would have by now.”  
“I don’t need to,” he replied stiffly, not taking his eyes from the road. “I’m not going to the police.”  
“Pete said you’d do this,” I heaved a sigh. “And he’s going to blame me for it.”  
“Pete said?” he turned to me confused for possibly just a few seconds, but it was enough.  
“Patrick! The road!” I cried as he almost swerved.

Turning back, he pulled the car back on track and remained silent for a few seconds before letting out a slow, long drawn out breath.

“I really don’t want to get pulled over again,” he muttered before sighing as he remembered the words that had led to the near crash. “So, that’s what Pete wanted to talk to you about?”  
“He said he assumed I’d talk you out of it because…”  
“Because this guy can place you at the scene of robberies and you’d get arrested.”  
“He spoke to you too?” I half-smiled.  
“Oh, yes! I don’t know whether to pat him on the back for coming up with something so ingenious or punch him in the mouth for trying to manipulate us. I don’t even know why I’m so surprised. He’s clever, is Pete.”  
“Really? Some of the things he’s done don’t seem all that clever,” I replied, still angry at the way Pete had treated me, however much I deserved it. Patrick laughed.  
“Oh, Pete is many things,” he shook his head, almost laughing as he thought about it. “He’s manipulative, controlling and self-centred, but… he’s also thoughtful, fiercely loyal and protective and then, of course, he’s an idiot, easily confused, gullible and shockingly naive at times.”  
“All that rolled into one person?” I raised my eyebrows as I looked over at him.  
“It’s rolled up really small,” he indicated with a very small space between his thumb and index finger and squinted as if trying to see something very tiny before flashing a smile at me.

He was doing it again. Somehow he had managed to get the subject onto another topic and was trying to lighten the mood, hoping I’d forget. I wasn’t going to let him. I decided I was going to get my own back and give him a direct order.

“You are going to report this,” I insisted.  
“What? Just to please Pete?” he asked, his pitch rising as he spoke, possibly surprised that I’d caught him out this time.  
“No, not for Pete, for you!”  
“Losing you isn’t going to help me. I’m not going do it.”  
“If you don’t, I will.”  
“There’s no point, Bex, it won’t work. I’ve already thought it through. This guy is going to point the finger at you for the robberies you’ve done and when they get you get on the stand, which will happen, you’ll be discredited straight away. The jury’ll think you’re just trying to get him back for beating you to a pulp. He’ll get away with it and if that wasn’t bad enough, you’ll go to prison and I’ll have lost you.”  
“Or, they won’t have any evidence against me for the robberies, I’ll deny everything and the jury’ll believe he could kill Cara based purely on how he treated me.”  
Patrick sighed noisily. “No,” he said emphatically. “I can’t risk losing you too!”

I think as soon as he said it he knew how I’d take it. He looked over, briefly this time, with a look of horror on his face as he realised what he’d said.

“I knew it! I knew you just thought of me as Cara! Stop the car, let me out!”  
“N… No! That’s not what I meant!” he stammered. “I just meant, I lost her because of that guy, I didn’t want to lose you because of him too.”

I have to admit, it sounded plausible but I was upset and for what I believed were good reasons, I couldn’t let it go.

“Pete was right…”  
“No he wasn’t!” Patrick yelled at me. “He always thinks he’s right, but he isn’t, not always and definitely not now!”  
“You have to do this! I don’t want to have this hanging over my head for the rest of my life.”  
“Have what hanging over your head?” Patrick sounded suddenly worried and yet somehow calm at the same time.  
“Someone I know has murdered a woman and not just any woman… the fiancee of the man… the man I love. How can I hold that information and not do something with it? How can you? If you can, you’re not the man I thought you were!”

Patrick nodded slowly and pulled over, bringing the car to a gentle stop.

“I don’t want to lose you.”

His voice was quiet and calm, yet nervous with a definite shake. It broke my heart to hear it.

“You won’t,” I replied emphatically. “If it comes to it, maybe we can cut a deal? After all, we will be giving them the name of a murderer.”  
“You don’t really believe that do you?” he replied with a saddened, half-hearted tone.  
“I’m prepared to believe anything if it’ll help you. I love you, Patrick, but I can’t pretend I don’t know about this and I can’t not do something about it, no matter what might happen to me.”  
“You’re amazing,” he smiled at me. It was an uncertain, worried smile, but a smile nonetheless.

As he leaned over to kiss me, he was interrupted half way by his cell phone ringing. Rolling his eyes as he plucked the phone from his pocket, he sighed.

“Your timing is terrible, Wentz! Excuse me?”

I nodded as he answered the phone. Only hearing Patrick’s side of the conversation made it trickier, but filling in the gaps wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be.

“Hello, Pete, what’s up?”  
“What’s up with me? What’s up with you? I only get Hello, Pete when something’s wrong.”  
“Nothing’s wrong, just your timing.”  
“My timing? Oh! You were… Oh… Ugh!”  
“Hey!” Patrick replied angrily. “Keep your opinions to yourself! Now what do you want?”  
“I’m assuming you haven’t gone to the police yet.”  
“We’re just on our way now.”  
“Really?” Pete replied with more than a hint of scepticism in his voice.  
“Yes, really! Bex has talked me into it.”  
“Talked you into it?” Pete replied; his tone filled with surprise. “Bex?”  
“Yeah, we do talk you know,” Patrick was almost nodding as he spoke. “We know that you spoke to both of us. Placing little seeds of doubt were you? Or just trying to engineer what you want again.”  
“Trick… I… I just want you to get past this.”  
“At what cost, Pete?”  
“I’m not trying to break you up,” he sighed almost in defeat. “Believe it or not, what Bex said to me… I know she cares about you.”  
“Oh… So it’s me you don’t believe?”  
“I want what’s best for you, whatever that is and whatever you really want, I’ll support you whether it’s what I want or not. I’ve made a lot of mistakes in my life, but I won’t add losing my best friend to the list. Nothing’s worth that.”  
“Well, that’s good,” Patrick’s expression softened. “Because I won’t let you,” he added with a cheerful smile. “Look, we should get going. I’ll speak to you later, Pete.”  
“Sure, I’ll let you get back to… erm…”  
“Going to the police,” Patrick prompted.  
“I love your euphemisms,” Pete replied in a mischievous tone that caused Patrick to chuckle.  
“That’s what she said,” he replied through his laughter.

It warmed my heart to hear them laughing together and with the tension between them broken, I really felt that they were getting back on track. All I could hope was that this decision, made by me but in Patrick’s eyes, engineered by Pete, wouldn’t turn out to be a big mistake. I really felt that their relationship couldn’t handle another traumatic event.

As Patrick ended the call and looked at me to resume our kiss, it was my turn to interrupt him.

“So we’re going to the police?” I asked.  
“No,” he shook his head. “I know Pete, eventually he’ll stop asking and he’ll forget.”  
“I doubt it,” I replied firmly. “Besides, I won’t.”  
“What do you mean?” he frowned.  
“Patrick,” I spoke through a clenched jaw, terrified that he might actually let me carry out my threat. “We either go to the police now and tell them everything or I get out of the car now and you never see me again.”

Inside I was shaking. I don’t know if it was visible, but I was shaking so hard I felt nauseous. For one terrible moment when I saw a look in his eyes I didn’t know, I thought he was going to tell me to get out. Closing his eyes he sighed before breathing deeply and letting the breath out in as controlled a fashion as he could muster.

“I don’t want to do it.”

I think it was my last opportunity to give in, but I couldn’t. I was serious, if he didn’t come with me, I was going to do it on my own. One way or another this was happening. I think I gasped with relief when his hand crossed mine.

“You are incredible,” he spoke with a pained voice. “I want you with me… all the time. You have got to be right about this. If I lose you, it will break me, you know that, don’t you?”  
“Patrick, please… Th… this is the hardest thing I’ll ever have to do,” I stammered, just wanting to give in and pull him close.  
“I know, you’re risking your freedom… I…”  
“No!” I corrected. “I’m risking losing you too! But your happiness is…”  
“Please! Don’t make me do this!” he begged, pulling my hand to his cheek. I felt his tears dampening my skin and with my free hand I pulled him close, it was just too much to bear.  
“Patrick…” I began only to be interrupted.  
“I know. I know.”

We held each other for what felt like an age before he pulled back, his eyes bloodshot and puffy.

“We should go,” he nodded. “P… Pete gave me the… the name of the detective in charge. We should go now, before I can’t.”  
“I love you, Patrick,” I whispered.

Nodding bleakly, Patrick pulled me close for a deep, long kiss.

“I love you too,” he stared into my equally tear-filled and reddened eyes. “Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

*

Patrick sat at the desk with his head in his hands. I could see he was miserable, and I wished I could do more than occasionally rub his back or squeeze his hand. It seemed so little and so meaningless when faced with the sheer amount of trauma he was suffering by going through it all again with Detective Mitcham. Although neither of us actually voiced our concerns, I think we both realised not too long after arriving that we really ought to have gone to another station to discuss the business about Cara. He had begun the investigation into Patrick’s kidnapping and from the moment I walked into the interview room I had the strongest feeling that sooner or later the conversation would steer around to that. I was frightened, of course I was. I didn’t want to go to prison. I might have been willing to risk it for Patrick’s sake, but it didn’t mean I actually wanted to go.

“How are you holding up?” I asked gently.  
“I’m okay,” he replied unconvincingly. “I just wish we could get this over with and get out of here.”  
“It can’t be much longer now,” I answered hopefully, looking up as the door opened once more revealing Detective Mitcham carrying three very welcome coffees.  
“Okay,” Mitcham began. “I’ve checked the files, we have nothing on a Michael Wilson for a felony, but he was brought in on a domestic violence misdemeanour recently. So, we have his fingerprints, we’re checking it now against the prints we got at the scene.”  
“He left his fingerprints?” I asked suddenly uncertain whether it could have been Michael; he was usually so careful. I suddenly had to check myself, hoping I hadn’t said something that suggested that I knew about his methods during a robbery. “I mean, if you don’t have anything on him… he must have been using gloves for others. Unless…” I was starting to ramble. “Unless that was his first, maybe?”   
“No, just having fingerprints is useless if we have no record of them,” Mitcham gave a short laugh. “He could have left fingerprints everywhere and we still wouldn’t have known who he was.”  
Patrick saved me from digging a deeper hole. “But if you have them now, how come you didn’t know about Cara?” Patrick frowned. “Assuming it was him… Maybe it wasn’t?”  
“This is a real working police station,” Mitcham sighed irritably. “This isn’t an episode of CSI or Law And Order, you know. That’s fiction, this is real life.”  
“Sir,” a younger police officer rapped on the door before entering. “The fingerprints are a match. It’s Wilson all right.”  
“Thanks Lewis,” Mitcham nodded. “Get out an APB, I want him picked up immediately, if not sooner.”  
“Yes, Sir.”  
“And no press announcements. Keep it quiet.”  
“Sir.” Lewis nodded closing the door once more.  
“Okay, so, we have him in the house, together with your testimony, that should be enough to put him away. One problem though…” Mitcham left the sentence hanging.  
“What problem?” Patrick asked with concern. I remained absolutely silent.  
“I need to know how you know about him. The prosecution will ask, and if your story can be discredited, the case will fall through.”  
“He was my boyfriend,” I sighed. “I… I didn’t know what he did. He told me he worked in a bar, that’s why he was out at night. I didn’t question him, I had no reason to.”  
“Okay, that seems reasonable,” Mitcham nodded.  
“Wait,” I sighed, noticing Patrick turning his head slowly, trying hard to hide the look of concern over what I might say. “That’s not all.”  
“Go on,” Mitcham encouraged with a frown.  
“I’d gone to visit my family for the holidays and it was great up until I got ill. It was a few days after Christmas and, well, my parents are pretty frail. I didn’t want to pass on whatever I had picked up so I left a couple of days early. By the time I got home it was pretty late, but I knew Michael would be out, I presumed working, but when I got back, he was there, surrounded by money and jewels. I can’t… I can’t begin to tell you how shocked I was and… And the way he looked at me, I thought he was going to kill me. I pretended to be excited rather than horrified and it seemed to calm him down. The next day he was going out again and he told me to buy some gloves and black clothes, telling me that come the new year, I was going out stealing with him. He told me that if I didn’t he’d kill me. That one night he was going on his own, but the next night it would be both of us and if I didn’t he’d leave something of mine at the scene, a hair, a nail, a contact lens, something that would come back to me. I was terrified. I had to get out, but I had to wait until he’d gone. I was almost packed when he came back, just after midnight. He’d never been back that early before and he was crazy and drunk or high, I don’t know. He just kept screaming at me that he’d just killed me. I don’t remember anything after that until I woke up in hospital days later. It was about two weeks before I left the hospital. I didn’t know about Cara at all, I’d been too weak and sedated to watch TV and I’d missed all the reports. It was only when I saw an old photo of Patrick and Cara together and I was told what had happened to her that I put the two together.”  
“Well, if it’s any consolation to you, we don’t have any DNA collected from robberies, it’s really just homicides and kidnappings. Fingerprints, yes, but not DNA. We don’t have the manpower. Like I said, it’s not CSI.”  
“So, if you have no other fingerprints for him, I’m guessing that because of Cara, something went wrong to make him remove his gloves,” Patrick’s voice was little more than a mumble.  
“Yes,” Mitcham replied with a sympathetic sigh. “I’m assuming you don’t want the details?”  
“Will I have to hear it in court?” Patrick asked, lowering his eyes, praying the answer was no.  
“Yes, I’m afraid so,” Mitcham confirmed. “We have to state how we compiled the evidence, including any theories on how it came to be there.”  
“Then I need to hear it now,” Patrick looked up, taking a deep breath.

I reached over to squeeze Patrick’s hand but somewhat inexplicably, he pulled it away. I was bewildered and hurt. What had I done to warrant that sort of a reaction? But there was no time to worry about it; Patrick had paled still further and Mitcham looked uncomfortable. It seemed that this was going to be unpleasant for both of them.

“We’ve pieced together the most likely sequence of events from the evidence we found. It looks as though Wilson was caught in the act of committing the robbery. From the gaps in the blood pooling and spatter patterns, I’d say that he was in another room when Miss Johns… Cara, returned home. We suspect that he kept a holdall in the centre of the living room and was filling it with items brought in smaller bags from other rooms he visited. On seeing the holdall, Cara would have possibly panicked, maybe disturbed him as she tried to leave again. From the blood loss pattern, and the entry and exit wounds, she was facing the door when she was shot. We believe she fell, landing on the holdall, as there was a significant patch of carpet with little to no blood soaked into it where she lay. We think he took his gloves off to move her, or, more accurately to pull the holdall out from under her. For that, he removed his gloves and actually left a bloody thumb print on her shoulder. I’m sorry, Patrick,” Mitcham said as he finished his explanation.

My eyes went to Patrick. Pale, shaking, his eyes glistening, he was avoiding my gaze. Yes, I could just be being paranoid but I really got the feeling that he was angry with me, but for what, I had no idea.

“I suggest you both go back home and rest,” Mitcham encouraged. “We can’t do much more until we pull him in. I’ll call you as soon as I hear anything.”

Patrick nodded, silently rising to his feet and I forced a smile. As much as I was glad that Mitcham hadn’t brought up Patrick’s kidnapping again, I was too worried about Patrick’s earlier response to me to really feel relief. Following Patrick to the door and then to the car in silence I knew it wouldn’t be long. I would say something even if he didn’t. The drive back to his was a short one, but I got the impression that it would feel much longer.

“Patrick?”  
“Not yet,” he replied cryptically.

It wasn’t until we were both in the car and had left the parking lot that he finally spoke again.

“You’re a really good liar,” he said with some trepidation in his tone.  
“Thanks?” I asked, not sure yet where he was going with this.  
“It wasn’t meant as a compliment,” he snapped in reply.  
“Oh,” I nodded. “You think because I lied easily to him that I can lie easily to you.”  
“I think that’s a fair summary.”  
“But not a fair assumption,” I corrected.  
“Well, I don’t know that, do I?” he gripped the wheel so tightly, his knuckles were white.  
“And I can’t prove it to you, can I?” I snapped. I had no right to be angry with him, but that didn’t stop me.  
“Well, you have lied to me before.”  
“Not since you remembered,” I pressed.  
“Well, I thought so, but having seen how easily you lie, I’m not so sure.”  
“I know you’re just reacting to what Mitcham said and you’re lashing out at me, because I’m an easy target.”  
“Oh, you know do you? You know me so well do you? When’s my birthday? What’s my brother’s name? Name one of my songs.”

He paused and, of course, I couldn’t answer him. But he was being unfair. I knew, or at least I hoped, that is was just a reaction to the news of what had happened to Cara, and I’d like to say that I stayed calm, but I didn’t. I was scared. Scared he was going to dump me. That he was going to decide Pete was right and get rid of me. I couldn’t let him, or at least I couldn’t let him say it first.

“Well, if that’s how you feel, stop the car, let me out,” I demanded.

We were only minutes walk from his house now, I’d have to find a taxi and I would probably be out of luck, but I just wanted to get away before he told me he hated me. I simply couldn’t have handled that. Slamming the brakes on, Patrick brought the car to a shuddering halt. Sitting in silence, he waited while I slowly unhooked the seatbelt.

“I wasn’t lying when I said I loved you,” I said only to be met with stony silence. I could see tears standing in his eyes as I said the words and prayed he’d turn and forgive me, but no, I was expecting too much.

Stepping from the car and closing the door, I watched him drive away believing I would never see him again. As I stood there, I realised that if I were arrested for kidnapping now, I really didn’t care, everything I had to live for had been lost.

*

Patrick sighed heavily as he entered the living room of his house. He needed a drink, he decided as he threw his keys down onto the table. With a reflective sigh, he decided that he probably needed several drinks.

“I hear you’re looking for me.”

Patrick turned sharply at the unexpected voice standing only feet away from him. As the figure of a tall broad man loomed out of the darkness, Patrick’s eyes widened, all other reaction cut off abruptly as something hard and cold was swung across his right temple. Spiralling to the floor, Patrick lay unmoving as his attacker smirked down at him, pushing the gun, now stained with Patrick’s blood back into his pocket.

“Well, you found me.”


	17. Cara's Killer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick wakes to questions and Pete softens towards Bex

I was still just standing there in the street. I hadn’t moved from where I had stepped out of the car and watched him drive off. I wasn’t crying. I think that shocked me more than anything else, but I was numb, I really didn’t think my mind had registered what had just happened. I’d just lost the only man I had ever truly cared for and I was heartbroken. I was devastated. It was then I noticed I was hyperventilating, almost gasping for air and I felt light-headed. Stepping back a few paces to set my balance, I pressed my back against the high wall behind me and it happened. I didn’t even notice at first, but tears, big fat round tears, were streaming down my cheeks. My vision was lost in a watery blur and I couldn’t breathe.

Pulling my phone from my pocket, I stared at it with bleary eyes willing it to ring, but it didn’t. Finally, in desperation, I called him. I had to tell him I was sorry, that I loved him and couldn’t be without him. Even if it didn’t work, I had to tell him. I had to try! One thing I did know about him was that he pretty much always kept his phone on silent but with the vibrate alert on, so really, I was hoping it was still in his pocket, or at least in sight. Praying for him to answer, I held my breath and I nearly collapsed when finally it went to voicemail. Pressing the red button and trying again, I was crying and sniffing as I stared down at the screen, pleading with it… or with him to answer. Again, voicemail. Now I was turning from desperate to angry and bitter, but the blame wasn’t Patrick’s, neither was it mine. No, I knew exactly who I was going to blame.

I had entered Pete’s number into my phone in case of emergencies. I knew that, whether Patrick accepted it or not, he had been through some terrible traumas recently and I couldn’t hope to handle every situation that might come up. Pete knew him so well that in an emergency, I knew he’d know what to do. But now wasn’t the type of emergency I’d had in mind. Now I felt angry and bitter and I wanted someone to take it out on. I could barely see the keys, but I sent a text message:

_You finally got what you always wanted. Congratulations! I hope you’re happy. Bex._

Pressing send, I flopped back against the wall crying bitter tears but within moments the phone rang in my hand. I nearly choked on my tears as I lifted the phone excitedly only to feel my heart plummet as I saw it was Pete calling.

“What?” I asked miserably as I answered. “Ring to gloat, did you?”  
“What happened?”

I was taken aback, really quite shocked at the quiet, sympathetic voice. Perhaps even more so because it was obvious from the time between my message and his call that he had called me first, rather than calling Patrick. And of course, what made it all the more surprising: he was being kind. It made me feel even more wretched.

“I lied to the police,” I answered simply but rather unhelpfully.  
“You had to,” Pete replied, puzzled by my reply. “What happened?”  
“He realised I could lie,” I laughed bitterly. “Like that was new to him! But now he thinks I’m still lying… that I’m lying to him.”  
“That doesn’t sound like Patrick,” Pete ventured, his tone full of uncertainty.  
“Well you asked me what happened!” I cried. “That’s what happened!”  
“Something else must have happened, something must have upset him. Can’t you tell he’s just lashing out?” Pete half shouted, half consoled. It was a curious mixture.  
“Well…”  
“Well, what?” Pete asked hearing the hesitance in my voice.  
“The detective told us how Cara had died.”  
“He did what?” It was Pete’s turn to shout and the suddenness of it nearly made me drop the phone.  
“Patrick asked him to, he said he’d have to hear it in court anyway,” I told him, but it seemed so stupid. I should have known that it would upset him, I should have insisted that he wasn’t told, that he could step out of court when it was mentioned. Anything to save him another ordeal. I heard Pete take a deep breath and let it out slowly. I had a question I had to ask him, although it sounded so ungrateful.  
“Pete?” my voice was small and quiet.  
“Yeah?” he replied tiredly, almost as if he knew what I would say.  
“Why are you being nice to me? You hate me.”

I heard another deep sigh and he paused as though trying to find time to think of the right words.

“I don’t hate you,” he finally spoke. “I hate what you did and for a long time you and what you did where inseparable. Now it’s confusing because what you did might actually help him and… You’re not a bad person… you’re actually okay and besides…”  
“Besides what?” I asked, dumbstruck by his frankness.  
“Your text… It was almost exactly what Patrick said to me when I saw him in the hospital. I knew when he said it that I’d hurt him pretty bad and… I was upset. I never meant to hurt him, I made a mistake.”  
“I did too,” I whispered. “I never meant to hurt him. I love him. I really do, Pete, I…”  
“I know,” he sighed, surprising me again. “Where are you?”  
“I don’t know the name of the road, it’s about two minutes drive from his and I’m outside a big house with a huge white wall around the property.”  
“Oh, yeah, I know where you are. Look, I’ll come over and we’ll go to Patrick’s together, we’ll get this sorted one way or another.”  
“You’ll help me?” I must have sounded pathetic.  
“I’m helping Patrick. We’ll talk, if he’s sorry, I’ll leave you two alone, but if he’s not… you have to accept that. Okay?”  
“Yeah,” I sounded uncertain, but only because I was worried, not because I didn’t trust Pete.  
“You’re gonna wait for me? You gotta wait for me, don’t be going in there by yourself. If you pressure him while he’s still upset he’ll…”  
“I’ll wait for you,” I interrupted. “I promise.”  
“I’ll be right there,” he sighed lightly. “Wait for me.”

*

Patrick groaned softly, grimacing as even the vibrations of his voice hurt his head. Suddenly kicked over onto his back, Patrick nearly passed out once more as his head felt as if it had exploded with pain. Bright lights danced before his eyes, but they were rolling back in their sockets. Aware of nothing but pain and nausea, it was a few moments before he heard the yelling, even though it was so close to his ear.

“Wake up, Stump!” the harsh voice screamed at him.

Reeling from the shock, Patrick was struggling to regain his senses. Eventually pulled into a sitting position by his shirt, the man was crouched at his side almost snarling with fury into his face.

“How do you know?” he yelled before shaking him once more. “Tell me!”

Finally able to focus, Patrick gathered his wits and asked the one question the man least expected to hear.

“Who are you?”

Throwing him back down to the floor, Michael Wilson, Cara’s killer stood up and stared down at the handcuffed singer, lying confused, disorientated and in pain.

“So, if you don’t know who I am? Who does? Who put you on to me?”  
“Who are you?” Patrick repeated, his voice strained as he fought the pain and confusion raging in his head.  
“I killed your girlfriend,” he replied bluntly, almost with a short laugh.

Patrick’s chest rose and fell rapidly as he took in the words. His lips parted as if to speak and what was once confusion began to bubble into anger. Only now realising he was handcuffed, Patrick refused to accept the danger he was in. Now beyond rage at finally being confronted by the man who had crushed his world, Patrick rolled onto his left knee but found himself struggling to stand without the use of his arms. Frustrated as Wilson began to laugh at him, Patrick tried to steady himself but he was already falling backwards, the victim of a sharp kick to his chest. Landing heavily, his arms crushed beneath him, Patrick gasped as sharp searing pains ran up and down his left arm and shoulder.

“Oh, that doesn’t look good, Stump,” Wilson laughed harshly as he knelt at Patrick’s side, pulling him upright by his shirt once more. Patrick almost whimpered in agony as his shoulder began to throb, and every movement accompanied by the sting of a thousand needle-like sensations all the way down to his elbow. “Now then, you’re going to give me some answers or you’re gonna find out just how painful a dislocated shoulder can be when you don’t treat it nicely. Who told you about me?”  
“No one,” Patrick whispered hoarsely.

Even pressing one finger lightly on his damaged shoulder was enough to send severe stabbing pains up and down Patrick’s neck and he felt himself reeling with the shock of it. So much so that he was in real danger of slipping into unconsciousness again. Deciding not to fight it was perhaps a mistake as he felt the heart-stopping agony of a fist slammed viciously into his arm. The sharp, searing nerve pain ran into his head followed by an overwhelming wave of heat as his head swam and he screamed in pain.

“Talk to me, I could do this all night. I doubt you could.”  
“Nobody told me,” Patrick gasped between shuddering breaths as he tried to hold in another cry of pain. “They called me in. They… they had your fingerprints.”  
“Now, there, you see, I know you’re lying,” Wilson growled menacingly.  
“I’m not lying,” Patrick’s voice was weak and gravelly now. “That’s how they know it’s you.”  
“I have a cousin in the precinct, that’s how I knew about you so quickly. He checks all criminal activity, any reported robberies or murders, if my details come up anywhere from he takes them off. My prints are not on record.”  
“It was a domestic violence charge,” Patrick sighed, glad that, for the moment at least, the pain was subsiding and he hadn’t inflicted any more.  
“Fuck!” Wilson cursed. “He didn’t pick that up! Fucking retard! I can’t trust him to do anything!”

Shoving Patrick back to the floor, eliciting yet another agonised scream of pain, Patrick gasped for breath as Wilson pushed himself to his feet and began to pace the room.

“Well, I’ve got a couple of days at least,” Wilson sneered. “They might be looking for me, but the last place they’ll be looking is here! You’ll do as a hostage, in fact, you’re money’s gonna get me safely out of this country.”

Too exhausted to speak, Patrick lay silently before wishing after a few moments that he had been able to say something, anything, as his phone vibrated audibly in his pocket.

“Who’s that?” Wilson snapped.  
“I don’t know,” Patrick choked out, praying it wasn’t Bex.

*

“Hey, man, where are you off to?”

Pete looked up to see Andy coming out of the elevator further up the corridor.

“Been for a run?” Pete asked, raising a faint smile.  
“Yeah, I needed to blow out a few cobwebs and let go of a bit of stress.”  
“Did it work?” Pete asked with genuine interest.  
“Yeah, some,” Andy replied with a frown forming. “Looks like you’re about to go looking for more stress, not less.”  
“That obvious?” Pete sighed, his shoulders sagging.  
“Yeah,” Andy frowned sympathetically. “What’s wrong?”  
“Patrick and Bex had a fight. According to Bex, it’s finished between them.”  
“She ditched him?” Andy raised his eyebrows in astonishment. “Now that I find hard to believe!”  
“You’re right, it was him.”  
“Then… hang on… Who did you speak to?” Andy replied, visibly confused.  
“Bex,” Pete sighed again as he saw the Andy’s confusion morph into a smirk.  
“You spoke to Bex?”  
“Yeah, they broke up, she’s upset.”  
“And you’re going to see her? Not Patrick?”  
“Andy, what’s your point?” Pete asked, knowing exactly where the conversation was leading, but merely wanting it to arrive sooner rather than later.  
“You’re just a big softy, you, aren’t you?” he chuckled.  
“Finished?” Pete grumbled.  
“Pretty much,” Andy grinned. “Want company? I just gotta take a shower.”  
“No, sorry, I asked her to wait for me and we’d go to Patrick’s. I think she’s likely to go round there if I don’t get there quick.”  
“You think it’s salvageable?” Andy asked. “Do you even want it to be?”  
“After everything that’s happened,” Pete looked down at the floor briefly before lifting his eyes to Andy once more, “I’m leaving it to Patrick. Whatever he wants… it’s his decision. He’s had enough stress without me interfering.”  
“No offence, Pete, but isn’t that what you’re doing now?”  
“I know, crazy isn’t it, I can’t even keep my own promises,” Pete offered a shrug and watched Andy return with a knowing smile. “Anyway, I gotta go. I’ll see you later, Andy.”  
“Sure,” Andy patted his shoulder as he passed. “Hope it goes well.”  
“Thanks.”

*

I said I’d wait for him but I’d waited over twenty minutes now and he was nowhere to be seen. I looked at my watch again, okay it was five minutes, but it felt like twenty. In my pocket my phone was ringing. Pulling it out, I expected it to be Pete telling me he was on his way, but my heart jumped into my throat as I saw it was Patrick calling me. Suddenly fumbling with the buttons, I was in a panic. I wanted to answer calmly, but I knew there was never any chance of that. Pressing the phone to my ear, I felt sure that my words were garbled, rushed and incoherent.

“Patrick, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to lose my temper. You’ve had to deal with so much lately, I should have been more sympathetic. I love you, Patrick, please give me another chance. Please?”  
“Hello, Bex.”

The voice wasn’t Patrick’s. I knew that voice. That voice had scared me before, but it was terrifying me now. My blood ran cold as I stood there with barely a grip on myself, never mind the phone. My breathing hitched and my voice faltered.

“Michael,” I whispered.  
“I’m touched,” came a dark laugh. “You remembered.”  
“Wh… Where…” I was starting more questions than I could possibly finish. In truth, I had no idea what to say, what to ask. Then I realised; all I really wanted to know was if Patrick was all right. Well, no that wasn’t all, of course it wasn’t all, but it was a start. “What have you done with Patrick?”  
“He’s… comfortable. I think you should drop by, pay him a visit, don’t you?”  
“No!”

I felt a sudden heat of panic as I heard Patrick cry out in the background followed by a pained scream.

“What are you doing? Leave him alone! Please! Don’t hurt him!”

I was shrieking, loud and almost hysterical as tears of abject terror ran down my cheeks.

“Shut up, you stupid bitch!” I heard him yelling down the phone. “Do you want to attract attention? Or, more the point, do you want you rock star boyfriend dead?”

I was hyperventilating, snatching at gulps of air, trying hard to stop my tears but it was no use. I kept thinking that Patrick had wanted to let it go, to not risk my safety. Neither of us even considered the possibility that he might be in any danger. If I had gone along with what he had wanted, Pete might well have been able to say I told you so, he may always have hated me, but this wouldn’t have happened. Oh, God, my poor Patrick! Ultimately this was my fault. Everything bad that had happened to him, to Pete, to any of them, it was all my fault and I felt sick to my stomach.

“What do you want?” I asked, my voice little more than a hoarse whisper.  
“I think that’s pretty obvious, don’t you?” he growled at me. “I need to get out of the country because of you. I want money, a passport, tickets, first class of course. I know you still have the contacts. But first I want to see you.”

I gasped audibly at the idea. Not at seeing him so much as what he’d done to Patrick. I wanted to be next to him, to comfort him, but… would he even let me? I knew he wouldn’t let Patrick go, he was his ticket out. I could help, I could arrange things, but Patrick was the reason I’d do it, the reason I’d say nothing to anyone.

“Get here, now,” he laughed. “Perhaps you can tell pretty boy, here all the things we used to get up to. He won’t want you then anyway. I bet you haven’t told him about your less than glorious past.”

I said nothing. I couldn’t; the words were sticking in my throat, it was so dry. He just laughed again, assuming, I suppose, that I was terrified he would reveal to Patrick that I was a thief. How he could honestly believe that anything he could say now could make me more scared than I was was beyond me.

“Now!” he screamed at me, making me jump and the phone physically shook in my hand.  
“Okay,” I forced out. “I’ll be there soon.”  
“Make sure you are or pretty boy… What do you think?”

His voice dropped lower as I realised he was actually speaking to Patrick. Asking him what torture he should dole out should I be late. I felt certain I would be physically sick, but I was getting angry too. How dare he!

“Let’s say he loses a finger, maybe two,” he laughed. “It’s not easy to cut just one off, the others get in the way.”  
“Michael, please…” my stomach was in knots and bile was rising in my throat.  
“Get here, now.”

The phone went silent in my ear and I’d no sooner lower my arm than I was turning, supporting myself against the wall. My mouth was filling with water and my head was swimming. I couldn’t hear properly, it was as though I was inside a giant seashell with rushing noises all around me. An oppressive blackness seemed to fold around me and the noise grew increasingly louder. I hadn’t even felt myself drop to my knees on the floor, but now the ground was rushing up to meet me. The next coherent thought I had was trying to work out why all I could see was a pair of purple sneakers.

“Bex?” I recognised the voice, but I couldn’t place it. It sounded hazy and distant, but somehow I knew it wasn’t, it couldn’t be. “Bex? Can you hear me? Are you okay?”

Above the sneakers were a pair of knees, above that, reaching down, a pair of hands trying to comfort me. Some way above that, Pete’s concerned face.

“What happened?” he frowned with concern. “I was parking and I saw you just pass out.”  
“I… I… I have to go,” I stammered pushing myself to my feet  
“What do you mean you have to go?” Pete replied, shocked at my reply.

I was already moving away from him, but he gripped my arm.

“I have to go,” I repeated.  
“What about Patrick?”  
“He was right, I’m not good for him.”  
“What the Hell!” Pete cried in frustration gripping my arm as I tried to pull back.  
“Let go,” I begged. “ I need to go.”  
“We’re going to see Patrick,” he insisted.  
“No… Leave it. He’s right… You were right… I…”  
“Well, I’m going then!” he snapped.  
“No!” I cried, terrified of what might happen to him.  
“Okay,” Pete’s breathing slowed and his jaw tightened. Staring me down as he considered his next words. “You don’t want to see Patrick and you don’t want me to either. What’s going on?”  
“Nothing,” I replied unconvincingly.  
“Tell me.”

His voice was quiet yet somehow threatening. There was a time when it could have scared me, but nothing could scare me more right now than the knowledge that Michael had Patrick and was hurting him.

“Tell me!” Pete yelled at me, pushing me against the wall. “If you’ve done anything to hurt him…”  
“He’s there!” I blurted. “Michael. The man who killed Cara, he’s got Patrick.”

Pete remained staring but there was nothing behind his eyes. Too shocked even to think, all coherent thought had drained away and he was just a shell, staring blankly, the void filling quickly with fear.

“What do we do?” I asked praying he’d know.

Pete did the last thing I ever expected. He pulled me close and wrapped his arms around me. I didn’t know if he was comforting me or I was comforting him but either way, we were all each other had against our mutual terror. Somehow his closeness made me feel stronger, and I hoped I helped him in some similar way.

“What does he want?” he murmured.  
“Me, he wants me to go there.”  
“Well… Well then, we go there.”  
“And?” I pressed.

There was no response. He didn’t know, neither of us did.


	18. It should have hurt, I was sure it should, but I felt nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can Bet and Patrick escape Cara's killer?

“So,” Michael began as he looked around the room. “Not too shabby. Of course, you know Bex is only after you for your money. And she won’t even wait to try to marry you or anything. As soon as you’re out of the house, she’ll clean you out.”

Michael laughed condescendingly as Patrick refused to answer.

“Oh, I pity you really, the way you’ve been taken in by her. She’s a thief you know, it’s how I know her, it’s how she knows me. It’s so sweet that you were trying to protect her from me, but she’s not worth it, she’s just a thief, like me.”

Anger swelled in Patrick’s heart and, despite his pain and what he knew the consequences would be, he spat out a reply.

“She is nothing like you!”  
“Well now,” Michael frowned, turning to stare down at Patrick. “I had you down as intelligent, but you know, maybe you’re just your typical dumb rock star? You see, I figured that by now, you’d realise that when you don’t stay in line, you suffer. It’s not a difficult idea to understand, but you don’t quite seem to be there yet.”

As he stood over Patrick, Michael began to tap his foot on his arm. The waves of pain started small, washing over his upper arm and shoulder increasing in intensity with each tap. His hands cuffed behind him, Patrick was struggling to try to pull away and avoid what was now bordering on torture. Exhausted by his efforts, he tried one last time, finally managing to roll onto his unhurt side, but the effort only made his other shoulder separate more. Gasping in shock and pain, he tried to reason with himself, choosing the best option with the least pain. But the choice was snatched from him as a foot slammed into his chest, forcing him down onto his back once more. His mind reeled as the double hit of the vicious kick, followed by the sharp, searing pain as his elbow hitting the floor jarred his entire arm sent him spiralling into unconsciousness. Allowing the blackness to wash over him, Patrick succumbed to the relative safety of a dark, dreamless sleep. 

“Had a cold recently, have you?”

Patrick frowned deeply as he was pulled from the relief of unconsciousness once more.

“Menthol,” Michael cocked his head to one side. “Was in your medicine cabinet. Useful stuff, menthol. I can keep you awake almost indefinitely with it. I’m going to have some fun with you, aren’t I?”

Patrick let out a quiet sob. He was in the hands of a murderer, and one that clearly wasn’t remotely queasy over torture. Something he had said earlier suggested that Cara wasn’t his last kill, even if she was his first. Worse still, Bex was on her way. What would he do? Torture him in front of her? Or worse - the other way around. As bad as it was, he felt more able to take the pain he was suffering than watch hers. He needed her though; she had contacts that he needed to use. Surely, he would leave her alone? The ringing of the doorbell announced her arrival and Patrick’s heart skipped a beat at the sound.

*

Standing alone outside, I wondered bleakly what I was stepping into. There was no doubt in my mind that I would do this. I couldn’t leave Patrick to suffer, though there was really nothing I could do to help. We were both trapped. Patrick, I guessed tied up or something, and me… Well I was willing to do anything to stop Michael hurting him. But, I didn’t know if I could and that was killing me. Looking up as he opened the door, I stared in silence as he smirked down at me, ushering me into the hallway.

“You look different,” he remarked with a raised eyebrow.

I was astonished at how he seemed to truly believe that we would just have some sort of casual conversation knowing that he had just been torturing the man I loved. But that was Michael all over; he cared for himself only and anything he deemed necessary to get his own way was fair to him.

“I said, you look different,” he repeated.  
“Well, I would,” I snapped. “After you beat me to a pulp, I needed surgery to reconstruct my jaw.”

His reaction was to laugh. He found it funny. He found my pain, my terror, my mental and physical agony funny! Turning sharply, my fist clenched, I swung at him, but my wrist was snatched into his hand in the blink of an eye. Squeezing with all his strength, it began to feel like a vice was crushing it. My eyes watered in pain and I felt my knees buckling under me. I prayed that he would let go, but I had no such luxury as I felt myself being dragged into the living room where I saw my first glimpse of Patrick. Lying on the floor, his arms behind him and his left arm… Oh, God, his left arm!

“What have you done to him?” I screamed only to be laughed at in return.  
“Just a little incentive for you to do what I say,” he smirked as he moved over to the far wall where the drinks cabinet stood. “I doubt you’ll do much because you want to, but you’ll definitely do what I tell you because you have to.” He poured himself a large whisky. “You see, I figure that I have enough contacts myself to get whatever I need to get away from here.”  
“Then what do you need me for?” I asked. “Why did you want me here?”  
“Two reasons,” he grinned unpleasantly. “First of all, you know about me and you know I’m here, I can’t have that. Even if I hadn’t answered your call, you’d have come here eventually and I wanted it on my terms, not yours. So,” he pulled the gun from his pocket, “now I know where you are and that you’re not running to the police. And of course, well,” he laughed; it made me feel sick as I almost sensed what he was about to say, “you still look great and I could use some action about now. Your boyfriend here was right about one thing. The last woman I was with ended up in the hospital, probably still there, I don’t know. Don’t really care; she’s not that pretty any more, not now. Who knows maybe she’ll get lucky and get the same surgeon as you?”  
“No,” I heard Patrick choke out. “Leave Bex alone.”  
“Oh, how touching!” he mocked. “So concerned about you, when he knows he’s only going to suffer for it.”  
“Leave him alone! Don’t you think you’ve done enough?”  
“Enough?” he chuckled before his expression darkened. “Not nearly! Between you, you’ve made sure I have to leave the country. I’m not even close to finishing with you! Now you have two choices, you either do what I want, or you watch while I make pretty boy lose the will to live.”  
“Please,” I shook my head, tears rolling down my cheeks as he placed the barrel of the gun under my blouse and pulled hard enough to pop one of the buttons.  
“No?” he laughed. “So, you want me to hurt him?”  
“Leave her alone!” Patrick gasped out, grimacing in pain and frustration, as he lay, unable to move.  
“Oh, you know what?” Michael snapped. “I’ve just about had it with your bleating! Both of you!”

Swinging a fist across my cheek, it felt as if my eye had just exploded. I could already feel the swelling across my cheek and eye and it was closing rapidly. I found myself sprawled on the floor, unable to remember falling and I could hear Patrick swearing and cursing at Michael. As I looked up, with limited vision, I saw Michael drawing his leg back.

“No!” I screamed pushing myself from the floor.

My heart plummeted as Michael swung his leg forcefully forward, aimed directly at Patrick’s shoulder. As his boot slammed into his arm, I saw Patrick throw his head back as indescribable, torturous agony washed over him. The scream was loud and long, bursting out with every last ounce of energy that remained in him. Gasping in shock, several smaller cries forced their way out as he struggled with even the act of breathing, snatching at small breaths in an attempt not to move. Before the first scream had even died the door behind me burst open. Pete was supposed to wait for the police and let them in with his key, but they were taking so long and Patrick’s agony had become too much for his concerned friend. It was a stupid mistake but, I realised, so very like him.

“You bastard!” he screamed, barrelling forward toward Michael.

I looked instantly from Pete to Michael. Although shocked, I could see he was ready for him and my eye widened painfully as I saw him lift the gun, aiming it at Pete as he ran headlong towards him. 

I don’t remember doing it. I don’t even remember thinking about it, but I was there, right in front of Michael, forcing him back with strength born of righteous anger. I heard a sickening thud and suddenly he no longer resisted me. Dropping like a stone to the floor, he lay unmoving. Looking down at him revealed nothing but on looking up, I could see the blood and traces of hair and skin on the wall-mounted speaker above him. When I looked down again, I realised that he didn’t seem to be breathing.

“Bex!” Pete cried in alarm.  
“P… Pete,” I heard Patrick stammer quietly. “H… Help her.”

I didn’t understand. Why did I need help? And then, suddenly, I felt cold, very cold. Looking down at my blouse, a wide red, sticky stain was forming on the left, under my ribs. Immediately, my knees gave way and I was crashing to the floor. Patrick was begging me to stay with him and I could feel Pete’s hands on the bullet wound, pressing down, trying to stem the flow of blood. It should have hurt, I was sure it should, but I felt nothing. Closing my eyes I lost consciousness to the sound of chaos and crying.

*

Sitting hunched over in the chair in the waiting area, Pete Wentz was staring down at his hands, his fingers alternately interlacing and releasing in his torment. He heard the door open but didn’t bother to look up. If it was a doctor, he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the news. If it was Andy, Joe, or especially Patrick, he couldn’t bring himself to look at them.

As it turned out, it was neither of these options.

“Pete?”

He recognised the voice, but couldn’t place it. Looking up he stared bleary-eyed into the sympathetic face of Detective Mitcham. Sighing, the detective looked down at the distraught bassist.

“You want to tell me what happened?”  
“Have you got him?” Pete asked, ignoring the question.  
“Him? You mean Wilson? He’s dead, Pete,” Mitcham explained.  
“No,” Pete shook his head. “His cousin. Patrick told me in the ambulance. He bragged about having a cousin in the police who deleted all his details from the system whenever his fingerprints came up. Robberies, murders. That’s why you never got him.”  
Mitcham frowned at the news. “Let me call that in, I’ll be back in a minute.”

Pete resumed his close examination of his still blood-stained hands. Her blood. On his hands. He could hold it in no longer. Salty tears rolled slowly down his cheek and dripped, splashing onto his palm and fingers and with each drop, he sank deeper into despair.

“Pete?”

He hadn’t even heard the door open again. This time it was Andy with Joe beside him. The distress in Pete’s was heart rending and in moments Andy was at his side pulling him from the chair into a hug. To his surprise, Pete pulled back.

“No! No, no! I don’t deserve any sympathy,” he insisted, backing away.  
“Pete,” Joe frowned in concern. “What happened? All we got was a call to say to come, that you and Patrick were here.”  
“And Bex,” Pete choked out.  
“Bex?” Andy shook his head. “What’s going on, Pete? Is Patrick okay?”  
“Patrick?” Pete looked blankly back. It became clear to Andy that he was suffering from shock but he was going untreated.  
“I’m getting a doctor,” Andy insisted before turning as the door opened once more.  
Taking in the arrival of Joe and Andy, the man nodded a quick greeting. “Detective Mitcham, I need to talk to Pete.”  
“Please,” Pete begged, “let them stay. I don’t want to have to say this more than once.”  
“Okay,” the detective indicated to two more seats near the window. Reluctantly the pair sat alternately looking from Pete to Mitcham and back, hoping to hear confirmation that everyone was okay, but from Pete’s apparent distress, something was very wrong.”  
“So, Pete, what happened?” Mitcham asked sympathetically.  
“I got a call from Bex, they’d had a row. Actually, no, that’s not true, I got a text and then I called her. You told Patrick about Cara’s death… did you really have to? He’s not handled it at all. And I don’t mean not handled it well, I mean not handled it at all!”  
“He asked me to, I didn’t realise he wouldn’t cope with it,” Mitcham replied in a quiet voice. “I’m sorry.”  
“He flipped out about it and they rowed. She was upset and I knew he would be. What was I gonna do? I couldn’t just leave them.”  
“You went to help?” Joe asked, receiving a brief nod from Andy.  
“When I got there, she told me that Wilson,” Pete turned briefly to Joe and Andy, “Cara’s killer, had answered the phone when she called Patrick. He was going to hurt him maybe even kill him, if she didn’t get there fast.”  
“You knew that when you left?” Andy gasped. “You didn’t say anything!”  
“N…no! I didn’t know till I got there! We called the police and went to his place. Bex went in, I was hanging back to let the police in when they arrived, but I heard him screaming and he… I couldn’t take it. I stormed in, but he had a gun. It… it was on me and he… She… Bex saved my life, but she…”

Pete slumped in the chair; heart wrenching sobs tearing from deep within him. Pushing his hands through his hair, Pete allowed his tears to flow freely. Instantly Joe was at his side trying his hardest to comfort him.

“Bex?” Andy asked quietly.  
“She took a bullet, here,” Mitcham indicated his left side below the ribs. “Lost a lot of blood.”  
“She… she sa… saved my life,” Pete hiccupped, collapsing onto Joe’s shoulder. “After everything I…”  
“Pete, you can’t blame yourself,” Joe interrupted.  
“Can’t I?” Pete looked up, his usually lightly tanned skin now almost devoid of colour. “If I hadn’t gone in… if I’d waited?”  
“You don’t know, he might have still shot her, he might have killed Patrick. You don’t know what he might have done.” Joe tried to reassure him.  
“He saw her get shot, Joe.” Pete shook his head. “She took a bullet meant for me. She wasn’t… It wasn’t…”  
“We need a doctor in here,” Andy turned a stern glare towards Mitcham, half expecting an argument and was surprised to find him nodding.  
“You’re right, I’ll get one. You stay with him.”

*

Lying in bed, Patrick was exhausted. His left arm strapped up in a sling, a bandage around his head and a concoction of codeine and morphine just about entering his bloodstream, he was starting to feel drowsy and somewhat lightheaded. He welcomed the feeling; anything to distract from the emptiness that occupied him fully.

Unable to prevent it, he had watched his girlfriend gunned down by the man who had killed his last girlfriend. He remembered trying to convince her not to go to the police but she had insisted. They shouldn’t have gone. He had been right, but for all the wrong reasons. And now… He didn’t want to think about now. Was his world over again? Nobody believed he loved her. He strongly suspected that not even Bex herself was truly convinced. And now? Now was not the time to fight the drugs trying hard to relax him, to take away the mental and physical pain. Closing his eyes, he let out a long deep sigh, trying hard not to succumb to the stinging behind his eyes.

Less than a few minutes later the door opened and Patrick’s eyes remained closed. Almost asleep, he wanted to shut out the world.

“Patrick? Are you awake?” a man’s voice asked in a gentle and kind voice. Despite no verbal response, he could see Patrick was now awake.  
“Patrick,” the man spoke again. “I’m…”  
“A shrink,” Patrick replied bluntly, opening his eyes.  
“How did you know?” the doctor asked with a smile.  
“You speak in that tone,” Patrick replied with a sigh. “That sympathetic talk-to-me tone.”  
“I see,” he replied. “And will you?”  
“Will I, what?”  
“Talk to me?”  
“Do I have to?”  
“I’m Doctor Tom Banks. Doctor Steadman asked me to speak with you.”

Patrick took a deep breath and looked up, frowning deeply.

“You mean yes then don’t you? If I don’t, you lock me up again, don’t you?”  
“Ongoing therapy was a condition of your release,” the doctor replied sympathetically.  
“My release!” Patrick scoffed “I should never have been there anyway!”  
“You think you’re handling things well, then?  
“As well as anyone else would,” Patrick glared. “Why, do you think you’d handle it any better?”  
“That’s impossible to say, Patrick.”  
“That’s right, so how you can stand there and judge me for…”  
“I’m not judging you, Patrick.”

Patrick stared back angrily for a few moments before answering.

“Do they teach you that?”  
“What, Patrick?”  
“To constantly use your patient’s name,” Patrick cocked his head. “Steadman did it too.”  
“Does it annoy you?”  
“What? Not, does it annoy you, Patrick?”  
“I’ll take that as a yes, then,” he smiled.  
“It’s just not natural,” Patrick sighed. “You want me to feel comfortable with you, just talk to me like normal people.”  
“Deal.”

Even though he had just struck a deal with the therapist, Patrick still didn’t actually want to talk. He cursed the medication, believing it was making him feel too relaxed, even helpful. He didn’t want to talk. He really didn’t want to.

“How do you feel?”  
“You want me to say I’m fine? I’m fine. I don’t need to talk.”  
“We have a deal. I talk normally to you and you talk back.”  
“I didn’t say that,” Patrick complained. “I don’t want to talk! Why can’t any of you understand that?”

Patrick’s voice increased in volume and pitch as he neared the end of the question. Dropping his head into his right hand he sighed noisily. Closing his eyes he tried to will the doctor to leave, but it was never likely to happen.

“You might find this hard to believe, but we do understand.”  
“Then if you do,” Patrick muttered into his hand. “Why are you insisting that I talk?”  
“Because it’ll help you come to terms with what’s happened. Doctor Steadman said you were worried about forgetting Cara.”  
“Well,” Patrick looked up; he seemed tired and drawn. “That’s not likely to happen now is it? Not now I’ve had a re-run right in front of me. I’m not likely to forget seeing Cara shot right in front… I…I mean… I mean Bex.”

Patrick drew his hand up to his mouth as he thought about his words, now more confused than ever.

“I mean Bex. I…”  
“So, Patrick,” the doctor smiled cheerily as he opened the door. “Let me check on that arm. Oh, hello, who are you?”  
“Me? I was just visiting, but I’m leaving,” the man replied nervously. 

Patrick looked up, snapped out of his unhappy thoughts by the unexpected conversation.

“He said he was taking over my therapy,” he frowned. “Doctor Banks.”  
“You’re not Doctor Banks. Who are you?” the doctor grew angry, hitting a small yellow button on the wall as he closed the door.  
“I told you… I’m…”

The man ran for the door, trying to push the doctor aside, only to run into a security guard as he pulled the door open. The guard was by no means tall and burly, but he had been trained well. Wrestled to the floor the man finally stopped struggling, realising there was no escape. Pulled to his feet and held firmly in the guard’s grip, the nervous man in his mid-thirties stared, shame-faced alternately between Patrick and the doctor.

“Who are you?”  
“My name’s John Lester, I work in the psychiatric wing. I was there when Mr Stump was brought in. When I heard he was back, but here, I read his file and…”  
“Pretended to be his therapist?” the doctor snapped angrily.  
“He’d never met him,” Lester explained with lowered eyes. “I thought I could make some money if I got the story.”  
“Impersonating a doctor is illegal,” the doctor replied, furious at the explanation, however freely given.  
“I didn’t prescribe him anything!” Lester’s eyes widened in panic. “There’s no harm done!”

The look in Patrick’s eyes suggested otherwise and his eyes brimmed with tears at the idea that this man had made him doubt everything he thought he knew as fact, but was claiming no harm.

“We’ll be the judge of that!” the doctor fumed at the man’s apparent either insensitivity or stupidity. “Take him to a private room, call his supervisor and the police.”  
“Yes, doctor,” the guard replied, pulling Lester from the room.

Waiting until the door was closed, the doctor approached Patrick’s bed. 

“Patrick, I’m Doctor Will Burton,” he smiled reassuringly. “I’m not a trained therapist or psychiatrist, but I’ll do what I can to help. Now, it looks like he upset you in some way. Is that right?”

Patrick merely nodded; unable to say anything without risking the torrent of tears that stood dammed by his eyelashes.

“Okay,” Burton replied soothingly. “Can you tell me what he said?”  
“It was what I said,” Patrick finally whispered after a long pause.  
“What was that, Patrick?” he asked gently.  
“He asked me about forgetting Cara, my ex…” Patrick paused as the stinging grew behind his eyes.  
“It’s okay, I know who she is, and Bex, I’ve read your notes,” he smiled as Patrick nodded gratefully.  
“I told him that I’d just seen Cara get shot so I couldn’t forget, but I meant Bex. I really did mean Bex! I don’t think she’s the same person, I know everyone thinks I love her just because she looks like Cara, but it’s not true! I just… I don’t know…”  
“Patrick,” the doctor paused awaiting a response. “Hey, come on,” he implored. “Look at this,” he held Patrick’s chart in front of him so he could read it. “Do you know what this means?”

Patrick looked at the indecipherable Names and numbers written down on the chart.

“No,” he shook his head slightly.  
“Okay, this tells me that you’re in shock and a lot of pain. See here?” he pointed to Patrick’s physical description on arrival; paraphrasing the wording for Patrick’s benefit. “Separated shoulder, bruising, a fair old crack to the head, pupils in fixed dilation, shaking and slipping in and out of consciousness. Do you know what that means?”  
“I haven’t had a good day?” Patrick forced a smile.

Burton laughed, and nodded, but realised that Patrick was almost certainly using humour to mask his fear.

“Like I said, it means you’re in shock and a lot of pain. And that means you’re sedated, and on heavy-duty pain medication. That alone will confuse you, but confusion is a classic symptom of shock too. So when you add the two together, it’s barely surprising you said the wrong name. He’d just been talking to you about Cara, so her name was in your head. You said her name instead? Have you never said the wrong name or used a wrong word?”  
Patrick nodded. “I… I guess so.”  
“Well, if you can do it when nothing’s wrong and you’re not doped up on pills, why do you think you can’t when you are?”  
“Well… I guess… I’m tired too,” Patrick nodded.  
“Well, even more so then,” Burton reassured him.

Patrick forced another weak smile. When put like that, it seemed so plausible that it had happened, plus he was grateful that Doctor Burton wasn’t trying to convince him that he didn’t, in fact, care for Bex. Managing a more genuine smile, Patrick nodded again.

“Thank you.”  
“No problem, now, let’s have a look at that arm, shall we?”

*

“I don’t want to be sedated!” Pete cried out as the doctor filled the syringe with a pale liquid.  
“It’s okay, Pete,” Joe tried hard to encourage Pete to remain in the bed, but the restless bassist insisted upon sitting up.  
“Look, I just want to be awake if…”  
“Patrick’s getting some sleep, don’t you think you should too?” Joe tried again to calm him.

Taking a much more direct approach, Andy grabbed Pete’s arm and pulled it out at an angle, making it harder for him to pull away.

“Let go!” he cried, frustrated at the unexpected move.  
“There,” Andy presented the doctor with Pete’s bare arm, stretched out and ready to accept the needle.  
“Andy! No!” Pete gasped trying to pull away, but the drummer held firm. “Let go!”

No longer struggling - there was no point, the injection had been successful and within moments Pete felt that he needed to sleep.

“I thought you didn’t approve of drugs,” Pete slurred as the sedative took hold and one by one the overly tight muscles across his chest and shoulders relaxed.  
“This is hardly the same thing, Pete,” Andy rolled his eyes and smiled as his friend finally sunk back onto the pillow.  
“How’s Trick?”  
“He’s okay, Pete, resting, you know,” Joe explained, patting his shoulder. “Like you should be.”  
“I’d argue, but you’ve seen to it, haven’t you,” Pete’s words continued to slur and his eyes were now only half open.  
“How’s Bex?” he asked struggling to remain conscious.  
“Get some rest, Pete,” the doctor replied gently.  
“Why won’t you tell me?”

Pete would very possibly have grown increasingly agitated if it hadn’t been for the powerful sedative coursing through his veins. Growing too sleepy to even force his eyes open, Pete sighed heavily and drifted off into the beginnings of a deep sleep.

“It’s not good is it?” Joe asked gravely.  
“She lost a lot of blood,” the doctor replied with an equally solemn expression. “She’s out of surgery now. It’s just waiting.”

*

“Am I dreaming?” Patrick asked sleepily.  
“Do you think you’re asleep?” the woman asked with a light laugh as she plumped his pillows.  
“Well…” Patrick frowned deeply. Was she really making him say the words? “Cara… You’re… I mean, you… I must be dreaming.”

Perching at the side of his bed, the pretty brunette smiled sympathetically and took his hand, gently stroking the back and his fingers. Gently, softly, lovingly.

“Don’t I feel real to you?” she asked with a small smile  
“Yes,” Patrick almost whispered. “I can see you, feel you… I… I can even smell your perfume.”  
“You bought it for me,” she added with a broad smile.  
“Cara… What… what do you want?”  
“I want you to be happy, Patrick,” her face creased with an expression of extraordinary sadness. “You haven’t been happy and I’m sorry.”  
“It’s not your fault! You didn’t ask to be killed.”  
“It is my fault, Patrick. It’s my fault because I never moved on. And because I never moved on, I never let you move on,” she admitted with a sigh.  
“What do you mean?” Patrick asked with a light shake of his head.  
“I stayed with you, Patrick, I never left. Have you never felt me nearby. Have I ever cluttered up your thoughts?”  
“Cara…” Patrick choked as he tried to formulate a reply but the pain of it prevented him. “I thought about nothing but you. I carried a photo of you in my wallet… I still do. I pretended that you had just gone out for a little while, but you’d be back. Sometimes I felt as though you were.”  
“Sometimes, I was,” she nodded. “It was the same for me. I couldn’t leave you. It wasn’t fair! I’d dated some real losers and then I met you… You were… are amazing. You made me feel confident, beautiful, sexy, all with one look from your gorgeous eyes.”  
“But you are those things!” Patrick protested.  
“I never felt any of that until I met you and even after I died, I refused to leave you. Being so near has probably only made things worse for you… Always being there. How could you move on?”  
“I didn’t want to! What if I forgot you?”  
“Oh, my dear, sweet Patrick! What an idea! You won’t do that, but you do need to find someone else. I know that now. And you need to give her the heart you gave to me. That big heart is too much to keep to yourself. It’ll break if you don’t share it.”  
“I… I thought I had found… But no one believes me.” Patrick sighed. “She looks like you and it’s confusing. And now… Now I don’t know. I feel guilty…”  
“I’ve confused you by coming back. You love her, Patrick. You know you do and I wanted to tell you that, because you need to act on it. When I’m gone, things will seem so much clearer.”  
“Don’t go,” Patrick whispered bleakly.  
“You don’t need me any more, you need Bex.”  
“I’ll always need you.”  
“No, you’ll always love me, but you don’t need me any more. I was a painful memory, but now I’m just a memory. From now on, you need new ones, you’ll make new ones. You love Bex, but, you need to tell her and you need to tell her now.”

*

Patrick woke with a start. He didn’t know why, but he needed to find Bex. He needed to be at her side and something told him that she needed him just as much.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One chapter left, will it be a happy ending or a sad one? Either way, thanks so much for reading and reviewing!! You've made me very happy!! Sas xox


	19. Will Bex survive?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another visit from Cara - can she help Bex?

Pushing back the covers, Patrick swung his legs out of the bed and paused, remaining seated as he swayed unsteadily. The drugs were making him unusually tired and he had a strong feeling that he had had some. Sort of bizarre yet realistic dream. He couldn’t remember what it was now and there was no time to think about it; the overwhelming need to find Bex and be with her was consuming all his thoughts.

Looking down at his arm he noticed the sling wasn’t what he had expected. He had imagined it would be a simple triangle of material looped around his neck. This was much more complex, probably explaining why it felt quite comfortable. Not only did the device hold his arm at a fixed angle across his chest via a series of straps, but for maximum care, another strap held his arm in place, preventing any movement away from his body. But, that wasn’t all he noticed:

“Great!” he said aloud as he realised he was dressed in a hospital gown that opened at the back. There was no way he could walk around the hospital dressed like that.

Looking around, hopeful to find some sort of robe, he cursed under his breath as he realised that nothing was available to him. Opening the small closet, he was relieved to find his own clothes and shoes neatly stored away. It would be a slow awkward process trying to get dressed with his shoulder still so painful and his left arm virtually useless, but he was determined. Grimacing with pain, Patrick unfastened the straps of the hi-tech sling and slipped his arm out while removing the device with his right hand.

It wasn’t nearly as painful as some of the agony he had suffered at Michael’s hands, but it was sufficient to take his breath away. Snatching at his breaths as the stabbing pain seemed to grow worse when his chest rose or fell, Patrick took a few moments to calm himself, all the while cursing over how long it was taking. Holding the t shirt in his right hand, he tried to work out the logistics of putting it on in the least painful way. Finally deciding to ease his arm through the sleeve and up to his shoulder then somehow manoeuvre his head and right arm in at that stage, he grimaced in pain as his shoulder was pulled forward as he slipped his right arm into the other sleeve. The most difficult part completed, Patrick paused for a moment as he again steadied himself. Keen to be at Bex’s side, every delay was killing him. A few more minutes saw him fully dressed and able to leave the room, grateful that he had not been observed escaping by a doctor or one of his friends.

“I’m looking for Rebecca Ives,” Patrick said as he approached the desk. “She’s had surgery, I need her room number, please?”  
“Are you family?”  
“I’m her husband,” Patrick replied with a faint smile on his lips. “I only just got the call to say she was here.”

Tapping a few keys on the keyboard, the nurse paused a few moments before turning back to face the pale singer. Believing his pallor to be more the result of worry than physical pain, the nurse smiled sympathetically.

“She’s in room two-seventy-eight. She got out of surgery a couple of hours ago, I’ll get a doctor to take you to her.”  
“It’s okay,” Patrick replied in an urgent tone, already turning away. “I’ll find it.”

*

“Coffee?” Andy suggested, receiving an appreciative nod and a smile from Joe.  
“Ah, you sweet talker, you!” Joe grinned. “Just so you know, I’ll let you buy me a coffee, but I’m not putting out!”  
“What about if I throw in some lunch?” Andy beamed in return.  
“Now you’re talking!” Joe rubbed his hands together at the thought of something to eat.  
“You know you…”

Andy froze mid-sentence as he stared suddenly past Joe and into the corridor.

“Did you see that?” he asked, barely believing his own eyes.  
“No, what?” Joe asked, his brow creasing at Andy’s sudden change in demeanour.  
“I could have sworn it was…” Andy frowned before shaking his head. “It looked like… It looked like Trick.”  
“Going past?” Joe pointed down the corridor. “That way?”  
“Yeah, but… He couldn’t… Could he?”  
“Bex’s room is that way,” Joe shrugged.  
“You want to check?” Andy asked, already half turned toward the door.  
Joe nodded. “Yeah, I think we should. I think we…” he paused. “I think we both know he’s there.”  
Andy sighed heavily and nodded. “He’s not up to this. She has to pull through.”  
“Not just for Trick’s sake either,” Joe added sadly.  
“Pete? Yeah,” Andy nodded again. “This has been tough on him too.”  
“Come on, let’s find him.”

*

Patrick’s breathing hitched as he opened the door to Bex’s room. Standing in the doorway, he stared, barely daring to take a step, his brow furrowed deeply as he noticed the unnatural grey cast to her skin, her brow, completely free of lines, indicating her complete lack of awareness. Deeply unconscious, Bex looked anything but close to recovering. Stepping inside and closing the door behind him, Patrick edged slowly closer, his own pain forgotten as he drew near. So many wires, so many cables, machines, lights, beeps. He knew, whilst trying not to accept it, that these machines were keeping her alive. He prayed that they would be enough. Pulling a chair over to the bed with his right arm, grimacing at the effort it took, Patrick settled himself, taking her hand in his.

“Okay,” he inhaled deeply, as if suddenly realising he didn’t know what to say. “This is like being on stage. Sometimes I’ll open my mouth to say something and I realise it’s all gone and I’m embarrassed because I don’t know what to say. It’s not that I’m not good with words, but sometimes, you know, I just so want to use the right words that I can’t think of any at all. I know that probably doesn’t make sense, but this really is one of those times. I don’t know if you can hear me, I’d like to think you can, and I’m speaking right to you and wherever you are, you’re not alone. I really need you to know that. You’re not alone and you never will be. I love you, Bex and damn it, I know you love me too! You just can’t do this to me! You can’t let him win! He can’t do this to me… twice!” Patrick’s voice rose both in volume and pitch before he forced himself to calm down. “No. I’m sorry, this isn’t your fault, I’m just… I’m really… Look Bex, this is the deal… I… I need you and you had damn well better wake up, because if you don’t I’m coming in there after you! Please. If you can hear me, I’m sorry I’m not making much sense, but I don’t know what else to say except I love you and I need you and… and…” Patrick lowered his head onto her hand. “Please don’t leave me.”

Jerking his head up suddenly, his eyelashes glistening with tears, Patrick turned his head to face the door, lowering his eyes as he saw Andy and Joe gazing at him with sympathetic eyes.

“I have to be with her,” Patrick murmured. “Don’t make me leave.”  
“I’ll get you a coffee,” Joe replied cheerfully, before slipping back out again.  
“I’ll get you a blanket, you look cold.”

Andy couldn’t force his voice to sound upbeat as Joe had managed, but it seemed to go appreciated all the same. Nodding gratefully, Patrick managed a faint smile.

“They’re doing everything they can, Trick.”  
“That’s why I need to be here,” he said as Andy placed a blanket around his shoulders. “Maybe my voice? You know? They say it helps.”  
“It’s worth a try,” Andy replied, pulling the blanket across in front of his friend without hurting his shoulder.

*

_‘I can’t hear you!’_

_I was screaming but getting no response. I couldn’t hear him and he couldn’t hear me. Plus, it seemed as though, like some sort of two-way mirror, I could see him, but he couldn’t see me! It was beyond frustrating._

_‘Patrick!’ I yelled again, to no avail._   
_‘He really can’t hear you.’_

_I spun around, shocked to hear another voice in my own mind._

_‘Who are you?’ I asked but, I knew. It was pretty obvious, actually._   
_‘I’m Cara,’ she smiled. ‘But you know that.’_   
_‘You’re the love of his life.’_

_I could have kicked myself; it sounded such a lame thing to say. When she laughed, I felt even more stupid, but the look on her face told me that she wasn’t laughing at me._

_‘Not any more, you know that.’_   
_‘I’m sorry,’ a pained expression creased my face. ‘I didn’t mean to take him from you.’_   
_‘No!’ she waved a hand as if to correct me. ‘You don’t understand. I stayed with him, I wouldn’t let him be alone. He’s met some nice people, some not so nice people and I stayed. They weren’t right for him. Now I can go.’_   
_‘Excuse me? You stayed with him to stop him dating?’ I couldn’t believe I was hearing this._   
_‘No, I was just vetting the applicants,’ she smiled. ‘You passed.’_   
_‘You like me?’ I shook my head in disbelief. ‘But I treated him so badly.’_   
_‘And then you treated him so well. You didn’t plan it. It was a situation that chose you, not the other way around and well, you love him, don’t you? Really, genuinely love him.’_   
_I smiled, my shoulders dropping as my tension was released. ‘Yeah, I do.’_   
_‘Then I suggest that instead of standing in here screaming, you get out there and look after him. He needs you, you know. Now more than ever. I’m moving on and I can’t do that until I know he’ll be okay.’_   
_‘I won’t hurt him, I promise I won’t.’_   
_‘I know,’ she smiled._

_Before I knew it, she was at my side, holding me in a warm and comforting embrace. The glass that separated me from my wonderful Patrick shattered silently and fell away to the floor. Instantly, I could hear him._

*

“I hope so.”

He talked about hope, but there seemed so little left in his tone. It broke my heart. I would be there for him. I’d never leave him, or hurt him. Not ever. And now I had the chance to tell him.

“Patrick?” I whispered.

*

His head spun so fast it actually made me dizzy and I saw him leaning over me with such concern in his eyes. I wanted so much to console him, but somehow I just couldn’t find my voice. I don’t mean that I couldn’t think of what to say, I knew exactly, but I felt so weak. I had no idea what had happened to me but I was beginning to understand why he appeared so worried. I was myself.

“What happened?” I asked, weakly.

I felt a little selfish for not immediately telling him that I loved him and all the things I was determined to tell him, but I needed to know why he was so upset. Perhaps it wasn’t anything to do with me? Perhaps it was something else and my announcing my love would be totally misplaced within his obvious grief.

“Andy, get the doctor!” Patrick called urgently, but Andy was already pressing the call button before heading for the door hoping to catch their attention even faster.  
“Patrick?” I was actually getting frightened now. I needed him to tell me something, anything.  
“Bex, you’re going to be fine, do you understand? Michael shot you, but we got you here straight away. You are going to be just fine!” he sounded so confident but then it all slipped away with his last two cracked and broken words. “Promise me.”

The best I could do was to squeeze his hand. I felt so weak and tired. I didn’t even feel myself drifting off again, but the sound of the door bursting open brought me back to consciousness again. I saw the blurry haze of a man standing at my bedside and I heard him asking for things and giving orders I didn’t understand. And I was too tired to try.

“No, Bex, please stay awake!”

I think I heard Patrick, but I wasn’t sure. I was too tired.

*

“She’s…” Patrick yelled. “Please! Help her!”  
“She’s okay,” the doctor replied reassuringly, to no avail.  
“No, she’s going unconscious again. Please, you have to…”  
“Patrick!” the doctor shouted, silencing him instantly. “She’s just tired,” he spoke slowly, forcing Patrick to listen to him. “She’s woken. She’s going to be fine. Do you understand? She’s out of the woods now. She’ll be okay.”

Patrick’s eyes glazed and misted at the words; it was all he wanted to hear.

“You, on the other hand,” the doctor paused for effect. “Get back to your room now and get back into bed!”  
“B…but I…”  
“Now!” the doctor insisted, but with a smile gracing his lips. “Now, Patrick,” he repeated in a kinder, gentler voice. “You’re no good to her if you’re not recovered.”

Patrick smiled, faintly at first, then broader. He would get well, he would make sure he was fit and healthy to take care of his beloved Bex. Something inside made him certain that everything would now be all right. He even felt that Cara would approve. Almost laughing to himself, he wondered why that thought had even occurred to him, but somehow, it was important.

*

I smiled as yet another bouquet of flowers arrived for me. This time it was lilies. In the room stood vases of roses, carnations, daisies, chrysanthemums and all manner of mixtures.

“Who are they from?” I asked the nurse as she brought them in, fussing over the arrangement.  
“Are you serious?” she laughed. “They’re from Patrick! Just like all the others.”

I looked around the room; a fresh bouquet had arrived every day of my stay, each one a different colour arrangement or a different type of flower. It was beginning to look like a florist store in my room. I couldn’t help but smile, not just at the flowers, but simply every time I thought about Patrick. There was simply something about him that made me smile at the very thought of him. He was more than I deserved, much more than I had any right to hope for and yet, there he was - in love with me. For the first time, I knew, absolutely knew that it was me and not just the memory of Cara. Don’t ask me how I knew, I really have no idea, but somehow… It was as if she just wasn’t there any more. The physical barrier that always made me feel as though Patrick couldn’t be mine simply wasn’t there and I was free to love him. I did already, of course, but now I didn’t feel so guilty about it. Suddenly it seemed acceptable. But would the guys accept me? It seemed unlikely still. Patrick still had to attend therapy following his kidnapping. That seemed… I was going to say harsh, but it really isn’t the right word. It was going to remind him of why, certainly, so I was nervous, but it actually seemed unnecessary. Perhaps I was imagining it, but Patrick seemed different too.

“Hey,” I almost didn’t notice him arrive as he popped his head around the door and smiled cheerfully at me, allowing his grin to broaden as he noticed the newly arrived flowers. “Do you like lilies?”  
“I love them,” I smiled in return. “But not as much as I love you.”  
“Hmm… Am I ever going to find a flower you love that much? I’ve tried a lot.”  
“Nothing exists that’s as lovely as you, Patrick, you should know that by now,” I replied, somewhat teasingly, yet still serious.  
“Apart from you,” he smiled as he took my hand, perching on the bed as he did. “You’re looking a lot better today. How do you feel?”  
“I feel good. The doctor said I was lucky. It went straight through, no major organs hit. There’s a surprising amount of room in there,” I grinned.  
“You lost a lot of blood,” he replied with such a worried expression that I automatically squeezed his hand reassuringly.  
“It’s okay, they put it back. Not exactly the same stuff, that’s all over your carpet,” I sighed looking down. Momentarily I actually felt guilty for ruining his carpet. It was ridiculous, but so natural that I couldn’t help it. He merely laughed at me. When I looked up he was shaking his head and rolling his eyes.  
“You’re worried about that?” leaning in his lips brushed my cheek sending shivers down my spine. “It’s gone. There’s nothing in that room to remind you of that night. Everything’s gone, changed, replaced. Everything.”

I welled up. He had done all that for me… well, it would have been painful for him too, so it was for both of us really but he made me feel as though it was all for me.

“Hey,” he whispered as he lightly caressed my cheek. “Don’t do that. I want you to see this.”  
“See what?” I asked choking back my tears and forcing myself to smile happily.  
“I got you a present,” he smiled shyly as he reached into his pocket and withdrew a small velvet box.  
“Wh… What…”  
“Don’t panic,” he laughed sweetly. “It’s not a ring.”

I couldn’t help but lower my eyes and shake my head. I felt like such an idiot to think that he might be proposing to me. But then, I really didn’t know what he was like, and that was reason enough to hope that he wasn’t.

“We’ll get to know each other first,” he lifted my head with a finger under my chin. “And then, I’ll propose. Now,” he smiled at my shocked, slightly uncertain expression. “Open your present.”

Taking the box from his outstretched hand, I opened the lid of the small box to reveal a key. I looked up expectantly.

“Actually, there are two keys, but one wouldn’t fit in the box,” he shrugged.  
“Keys to your house?”  
“Yeah,” he grinned mischievously. “I know you don’t need them, but I thought you might like them anyway. It’s probably quicker than picking the locks.”

I blushed a furious pink and looked down to peals of laughter.

“I’m sorry,” he managed through his chuckles. “I have increased security though, given that I’ve been broken into twice in one week. I thought maybe I needed it. Anyway, the key is so you can come and go, but mostly come.”  
“Won’t Pete mind?”  
“Pete?” Patrick laughed again, his contagious smile cheering me as I looked at him. “He doesn’t live there. I know some people would like to think he does, but…”  
“No!” I interrupted. “He hates me.”  
“I think you’ll find he doesn’t,” Patrick’s smile extended to a knowing smirk. “You saved his life, you know. You didn’t hesitate, you took a bullet for him.  
“He… Michael would have killed him.”  
“He would have killed all of us if you hadn’t got to him first.”  
“You mean… he’s dead? I killed him?”

Patrick’s face fell when he saw my suddenly paling skin and my distressed expression.

“Hey, it was an accident, you’re not to blame. You were trying to stop him shooting Pete. He cracked his head on the speaker, which has also been replaced. I thought you knew.”  
“I… I remember,” I nodded. It made no sense that I was upset, well, not to me anyway.  
“You’re too lovely a person to be glad of something like that, even if he was going to kill us.”

It was almost as if he had read my mind.

“Pete’s planning a party for you,” he grinned. “Well, he says it’s for us, but really it’s for you.”  
“What did I ever do to deserve someone as wonderful as you?” I asked not nearly able to fully comprehend my luck.  
“You know what?” Patrick took my hand and caressed it gently. Looking into my eyes, he leaned in, gave me a brief but tender kiss and said: “I was just wondering the same thing myself.”

 

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for reading and all your lovely comments - I am so very lucky!! :D Sas xx


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